What the Storm Taught Me About Empathy

 

Back in school, we learned a lot about weather changes and natural disasters. Living in the Philippines, I grew up knowing that our country is one of the most vulnerable places when it comes to typhoons, earthquakes, and floods. Disasters are so common here that it felt like no month or semester passed without a drill. Fire drills, earthquake drills, typhoon drills—you name it. We practiced where to go and what to do when disaster hits.

Storms might be predictable. Earthquakes? Not at all. And while we prepare as best we can, the truth is no one is ever truly exempt. Disasters don’t pick favorites. So the question isn’t really “Why do disasters keep challenging us?” It’s “Who suffers the most when they do?”

Recently, the third typhoon of the year hit the Philippines, bringing intense rain to many provinces—including my hometown in Metro Cebu. Floodwaters surged through the streets, sweeping away cars and entering shops. Schools suspended classes, but that didn’t stop traffic from turning into chaos. Roads became impassable. People were stranded. Employees came home late, students were soaked to the bone, and daily wage earners—those with no guaranteed income—went home empty, wet, and hungry.

The next day, more class suspensions were announced. Some businesses shut their doors. Others, like our agency, shifted to remote work. And then that night, while scrolling through social media, I saw a student post:

“Sana bumagyo para suspended.”
“I wish there’s a storm so classes will be suspended.”

I paused.

Let’s be honest. Who doesn’t wish for an unexpected day off? A chance to stay in, curl up with a blanket, binge a show, and snack on comfort food? The sound of rain outside can feel calming. Cozy, even. And yes, sometimes we do crave that kind of break.

But I couldn’t help thinking: while some of us enjoy the comforts of home during storms, others are out there wading through waist-deep floods, trying to earn enough just to put food on the table. Some people risk their safety because they can't afford to skip a day of work. Others lose their small shops, their tricycles, their homes. Not everyone can relax when the rain falls.

God once said, “Be careful with the words that come out of your mouth—for they bring either life or death.” And it struck me: sometimes, our casual wishes—like hoping for storms just to avoid school—can feel harmless to us, but they carry weight. There are people for whom storms don’t mean rest—they mean survival.

So maybe instead of wishing for bad weather, we should take a moment to pray—for safety, for strength, and for the ones who can’t afford to pause.

Storms will come. That’s life. In the Philippines, we’re born with them. But so are resilience, strength, and a heart that understands what it means to endure. Still, in all our toughness, may we never forget to be kind.

Let storms not harden our hearts, but teach us empathy.
Let them not make us cold, but grow compassion in us.