It wasn’t the flood that shocked us.

It was what the flood carried.

Plastic bottles. Sachets. Food wrappers. Broken containers. The discarded remains of ordinary life, suddenly floating through Metro Manila as if the city were returning everything we thought we had thrown away.

At the Redemptorist Water Channel in Barangay Baclaran, Parañaque, authorities hauled out nearly 700 metric tons of waste and debris using 188 trucks.

Nearly 700 tons.

Not created by a few days of rain. The storm simply gathered into one horrifying picture what our waste system had failed to contain.

The rain did not create the garbage.

We did.

Not just government. Not just corporations. Not just the conveniently unnamed “undisciplined Filipino.”

All of us.

There is a familiar ritual whenever garbage surfaces after a storm.

We see a waterway choked with plastic and become furious. Citizens blame government. Government blames citizens. Companies point to proper disposal. Consumers point to plastic packaging.

Then the water recedes.

And so does our outrage.

Until the next storm returns the evidence.

Because there is really no such place as “away.”

We buy something, use it, throw it away—and stop asking where “away” actually is.

As long as it has disappeared from our kitchen, our car or our hand, we behave as though it has disappeared altogether.

Except it hasn’t.

Republic Act 9003 has required ecological solid-waste management for more than two decades, with local governments primarily responsible for implementation and enforcement.

So yes, government has a job.

Garbage must be collected. Waste systems must work. Illegal dumping must have consequences.

A BAWAL MAGTAPON NG BASURA DITO sign is not a waste-management program.

But here comes the part we may prefer not to hear.

Those hundreds of tons did not materialize when the clouds opened.

Every bottle had a history before it reached that waterway.

Someone produced it. Someone sold it. Someone bought it. Someone used it.

And somewhere between use, collection and disposal, responsibility broke down.

Sometimes the failure is government’s. Sometimes it is corporate. And sometimes, yes, it is ours.

We can keep our homes spotless while being careless about the spaces we share. A cup gets left on the sidewalk, a plastic bag goes into the gutter, household waste finds its way beside a creek.

We demand first-world public services while sometimes treating public spaces as though responsibility ends at our property line.

But blaming ordinary Filipinos alone would also be dishonest.

Much of what we throw away began as something designed, packaged and sold for convenience: sachets, plastic bags, bottles, food containers.

That is why the 2022 Extended Producer Responsibility Act requires covered large enterprises to recover or offset an increasing share of their plastic packaging footprint.

The statutory target for 2026 is 60 percent.

Companies cannot endlessly put disposable packaging into the market, collect the revenue and pretend responsibility ends at the cashier.

But consumers cannot point at corporations as though the hand that throws a bottle into a canal belongs to nobody.

And government cannot lecture citizens about discipline while failing at collection and enforcement.

This is where our favorite national sport begins: Passing responsibility.

Everybody has an argument.

Everybody has someone else to blame.

And meanwhile, the garbage keeps moving downstream.

We have laws, collection systems, environmental agencies and producer-responsibility requirements. We have taught generations of children to put trash in the proper bin.

Yet after enough rain, nearly 700 tons of waste and debris can still become the defining image of a Metro Manila waterway.

At some point, ignorance stops being a believable excuse.

Maybe this is not simply a garbage problem.

Maybe it is a culture-of-disposal problem.

We have become very good at making unwanted things someone else’s responsibility.

Our mess. Our mistakes. Our consequences.

Get them out of sight and perhaps somebody downstream will deal with them.

Until nature reverses the transaction.

A bottle enters the waste stream. A bag escapes collection. Debris accumulates. Rain moves it. Water carries it.

And eventually what we believed was gone is sitting in front of us again.

Garbage does not explain every flood. Not every Filipino litters. Individual discipline cannot replace competent waste collection, and laws on the books do not prove government has implemented them well.

But none of those truths cancels out the others.

Government failure does not excuse personal irresponsibility.

Personal irresponsibility does not excuse government failure.

And asking consumers to segregate waste does not give producers unlimited moral permission to flood the market with packaging someone else must eventually recover.

Responsibility does not disappear simply because it is shared.

The garbage belongs to a chain.

Someone produced it. Someone sold it. Someone bought it. Someone used it. Someone was supposed to contain it, collect it and enforce the rules around it.

And somewhere along that chain, we failed.

The Redemptorist Water Channel has now largely been cleared. The water is visible again.

That almost makes the photograph more dangerous.

Because once the mess is gone, so is the pressure to think about it.

Soon another headline will replace this one, and we will be tempted to believe that because the garbage has disappeared from view, the problem has disappeared with it.

We have made that mistake before.

There is no “away.”

There is only somewhere else.

Sometimes somebody else.

And eventually, downstream.

Because the rain didn’t create the garbage.

It merely exposed what we had refused to deal with.

Creek umapaw, nagdulot ng pagbaha sa Baras, Rizal