by Josh Stephen A. Astillero and Earl Joshua D. Pector

Along the rippling shores of Laguna de Bay, where the water mirrors the sky and the day begins with a quiet promise, lives May Garcia–a 37 year-old mother of four from Barangay Palingon in Calamba, Laguna. For most of her life, the lake has been both her home and battleground–giving life with each catch, yet taking it away whenever the waters rise.

Before Dawn

In a community of fishermen, May stands alone as the only fisherwoman. Before the rest of the village stirs, she rises in the quiet blue hour, when the fog hangs low over the lake and the distant mountain looms faintly through the haze. The water lies still, broken only by the soft lapping against her small wooden boat.

With practiced hands, May unties her boat and rows slowly into the open lake, her oars carving gentle ripples across the glassy surface. The world is hushed except for the creak of wood and the rhythmic pull of the water beneath her. When she reaches deeper water, she stands to cast her nets–a motion she has repeated countless mornings as the first light spills over the horizon.

“Ngayon malakas ang kita ng mangingisda kasi fishing season,” she said.

For May, these early hours are both a test of strength and a moment of calm. The lake has shaped her life, teaching her the true value of patience. Each throw of the net carries a silent plea, hoping that the day’s catch will be enough to feed her children, pay for their schooling, and keep the family afloat until tomorrow.

When the Sky Breaks 

But life beside the lake is never easy, especially when the rains come sooner than expected, turning the calm waters of Laguna de Bay into restless, overflowing waves.

“Ang aga ngayon ng baha,” May declared, “Dati bumabaha dito ng mga September o October. Ngayon, July pa lang, bumabaha na.” 

As the climate shifts, floods arrive sooner and linger longer. “Dito sa totoo lang, ang tubig lagtas tao,” she added.

IN PHOTO: A young boy crosses a makeshift bridge, navigating the murky waters of Laguna de Bay that have become both playground and obstacle in a community living with recurring floods. Photo by Josh Stephen Astillero.

In Barangay Palingon, residents walk on makeshift bridges of wood and bamboo to cross from one house to another. These narrow, unstable paths are often the only way for children to reach school.

When the floods rise, floating trash and debris turn the water murky and hazardous. A sour, lingering odor hangs over the community even after the rain ends–a reminder of how fragile life by the lake as become.

This year, the situation has grown even more alarming. According to a GMA report, the lake has risen above itsthe critical level, prompting authorities to urge residents to evacuate. For Palingon, a community perched closest to the water, such warnings are all too familiar.

Families, including May’s, often relocate to schools that serve as temporary shelters and evacuation sites but even those have their limits.

“Pwede naman kami sa school kaso 15 days lang,” she explained. “Napipilitan kaming bumalik na lang sa bahay o lumipat kami sa Bañadero, pero ayaw namin kasi maraming maiiwang gamit, tapos mahal pa pamasahe.” 

At High Noon 

Each year, the waters rise and the struggles return, yet May’s spirit remains unbroken, her eyes scanning the horizon with both exhaustion and determination. However, frustration grows as large-scale projects resurface over the same waters the submerge their communities.

Alfredo Garcia, deputy of Barangay Palingon, shared, “Mayroon kaming covered court na pinaghahandaan para sa paparating na bagyo,” highlighting that it remains under construction despite all these years.

In addition, the government and private corporations have begun constructing a floating solar project on Laguna de Bay, adding another wave of change and frustration. According to a Rappler report, local fisherfolk fear losing their fishing grounds and being excluded from the decision-making process.

Another article revealed that fishing communities are requesting jobs and a share of the profits, emphasizing that those who depend on the lake should benefit from its transformation.

For May, these developments feel misplaced.

“Kaysa magpaganda sila nang magpaganda ng court, sana man lang evacuation center na malapit dito ‘yung [maging] proyekto nila,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

While renewable energy projects and other infrastructure initiatives offer progress, May believes that true development begins with safety and inclusion, starting with a permanent evacuation center for all families who have spent years fleeing the same floods, only to return to the same dangers.

After the Storm 

IN PHOTO: May Garcia gazes across the distant waters of Laguna de Bay, her eyes reflecting both the weight of struggle and the quiet strength that keeps her family afloat. Photo by Earl Joshua Pector.

Despite the hardships, May continues to fish and persevere. The lake, though unpredictable, remains home–a mirror of both life’s struggles and its fleeting victories.

But as dusk settles over the flooded streets, she pauses, watching the clouded waters swirl past makeshift bridges and submerged homes. Each typhoon leaves a bitter reminder: there can be no real progress while communities float on false promises, clinging to hope as fragile as a drifting raft.

When dawn comes again, she rows out once more. The waters may surge–but so must the call for change: development that does not drown people in empty promises, and safety that does not sink beneath shallow solutions. May Garcia, a lone fisherwoman navigating both the floods and the failures of a system that must finally learn to rise with its people, continues.