Halong! The kind of commute we deserve

By Annika Celestine Ong

I never cared much about cars.

I never asked how much my father spent on gas this week, nor did I recognize the names of the different Grab car brands that would pick me up when my parents couldn’t. To me, a Porsche and a jeepney were the same in the sense that I closed my eyes, and I’d still arrive home.

Amid global political tensions, the irony of the energy crisis hits closer to home. No matter how full one’s garage is or how many luxury brands are collected, transportation will cease to function without the essential that everyone needs: oil.

It is easy to take something as mundane as oil for granted. Mindsets would only change once these crises personally affect us, where grand plans of summer seminars abroad were cancelled due to rising airfares that made planning vacations difficult, even infeasible.

I never cared about cars until I realized that transportation was never just about the machines, but a mirror of the discipline and motivation of the people both steering and seated behind the wheels.

Returning from a recent vacation to Japan, I found this crisis a point of reflection on how each country ‘adapted’ to cope with the shortage.

In the Philippines, I have seen gas stations tack paper signages to mark the triple-digit gas prices, seeing how their original signs only had space for two figures, never believing fuel would rise so high. As many drivers struggle to make ends meet, public narratives often overlook the mental and physical stress of the sudden scarcity, emphasizing Filipino resilience more than concrete solutions. Meanwhile, in Tokyo, trains arrived on time, routes were clear, and commuting felt seamless; life carried on, not because the crisis did not exist, but because their system was built to withstand it.

Then I asked myself: what would it take for Iloilo to reach Japan’s level?

For through the lens of my digital camera, Japan’s cherry blossoms are no more beautiful than the flowering santan bush in my neighborhood, a bowl of pork katsudon tantalizes the eyes (and stomach) the same way a plate of freshly grilled sugba would. With a unique cultural abundance of flora, fauna, and food, boxes continue to be ticked off the standards of mimicking Japan’s ‘first-world country’ status.

A striking difference was not the technology itself, but the predictability and comfort provided, something our own daily commutes often lack, most emphasized by current resource scarcity.

For if this simplicity is what works elsewhere, what would it look like at home?

What is then missing is not the presence of cars, but the experience of a predictable, accessible, and humane commute home. Back in Iloilo, jeepneys arrive without warning, pick-up points become random guesswork, and each missed ride carries the quiet worry of not knowing when the next one will come. In contrast, what stood out in Japan was how much value was placed on the passenger’s time, where even a minute’s delay felt like an inconvenience. At each station, digital boards counted down the exact minutes until the next train, and they arrived when Google Maps said they would. I never doubted that there would be no train to get back home, for there was a quiet assurance in knowing that the system moved with you, not against you.

It made me wonder how improved our own cities could feel with such small but meaningful shifts: clearer stops, fixed intervals, and transfer hubs that allow movement to flow rather than stall. Perhaps progress does not lie in reinventing transportation entirely, but in refining what already exists so that every journey feels less like a competitive battlefield and more like a steady pillar one can lean on in times of need.

This realization leaves me with cautious hope, that all it takes is innovation and sound policy run with responsible leadership, all working together to build systems that prioritize people over convenience or profit.

So yes, now, I do care about cars.

While advanced transportation is often seen as the pinnacle of luxury, true development was never about needing the newest or most expensive technology, but rather about improving local resources on hand to maximize their untapped potential. It is about stepping away from the race of modernization, to instead embrace our country’s own strengths and capacity. At the end of the day, progress is not defined by who builds the fastest cars, but by who ensures that no one is left waiting on the roadside. Iloilo does not need to chase after the illusion of futuristic cities. What Ilonggos need now, especially at a time when fuel itself reminds us how reliant we are on fragile movement, is a nation that consistently cares for the dignity of living standards and the comfort of their people.

In the end, success is not measured by what our vehicles can do, but by where they are able to take their people.

(The writer is currently one of the senior high Associate Editors of Ateneo de Iloilo’s The Ripples.)