Baybayin Futures: Initiatives for Island and Coastal Communities

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Baybayin Futures: Initiatives for Island and Coastal Communities We are a Philippine-based think tank dedicated to shaping climate resilient and sustainable futures for island and coastal communities.

When Remoteness Became an AssetThe Villafuertes offer a lesson in island development: geography does not dictate economi...
01/10/2026

When Remoteness Became an Asset

The Villafuertes offer a lesson in island development: geography does not dictate economic destiny.

Political leadership can change what geography means.

For much of the Philippines, remoteness appears in development plans as a problem to be corrected.

An island is far from the market. A coastal village is difficult to reach. Roads cost more. Boats take longer. Electricity, communications and public services become expensive. Investment gravitates somewhere easier. The language of government soon follows: geographically isolated, disadvantaged, underserved.

Caramoan had nearly all of these disadvantages.

It sits on the Pacific side of Camarines Sur, a peninsula opening into an archipelago of limestone islands, hidden coves and fishing communities. Its beauty is now familiar from tourism campaigns. Its isolation once mattered more.

When Luis Raymund “LRay” Villafuerte Jr. became governor of Camarines Sur in 2004, Caramoan was hardly the destination it is today. Villafuerte later recalled that his administration had been promoting the islands since that year, long before the American edition of Survivor arrived. By 2012, when Survivor: Philippines filmed there, the governor described years of deliberate work to attract international productions to the province. Some 400 local residents were reportedly hired during that production alone.

That chronology matters.

It is easy, looking backwards, to imagine that Caramoan's development was inevitable. The beaches were always there. So were the limestone cliffs, lagoons and islands. Yet countless beautiful places across the Philippines remain economically peripheral.

Natural assets do not promote themselves.

Someone has to decide that a place which appears remote on a map can be positioned as exclusive rather than inaccessible; pristine rather than undeveloped; adventurous rather than inconvenient.

That was the strategic wager made in Camarines Sur.

Seeing the islands differently

The useful way to understand the Villafuerte-era tourism strategy is not as a collection of resorts and promotional campaigns. It was an attempt to change the economic meaning of geography.

Caramoan's isolation had imposed costs on its communities. Tourism offered the possibility that the same isolation might command value.

The province was building a wider tourism identity at roughly the same time. Caramoan became one pole. The CamSur Watersports Complex became another. Adventure, landscape and experience were assembled into something increasingly recognizable as a provincial brand. Camarines Sur's own institutional history identifies the promotion of Caramoan and the development of the watersports complex as central initiatives of LRay Villafuerte's first governorship from 2004 to 2013.

The numbers suggest how dramatic the wider tourism expansion became. Department of Tourism Region V figures record just 17,599 tourist arrivals in Camarines Sur in 2004. By 2008 the figure had reached more than 721,000. It passed 2.3m in 2010 and approached 2.5m in 2012.

These are province-wide figures and cannot be attributed to Caramoan alone, but they show the scale of CamSur's emergence as a tourism destination during the period.

Caramoan meanwhile acquired something difficult for local governments to purchase directly: international cultural visibility.

The French Survivor filmed there in 2008. Other international editions followed. By the time the American franchise arrived, Caramoan's peculiar combination of spectacular scenery and relative isolation had become precisely what production companies were looking for.

There is an irony in this.

The thing that had made Caramoan difficult to develop helped make it marketable.

That is a useful proposition for island policy generally.

Remoteness is neither automatically an economic handicap nor automatically an advantage. Its meaning depends partly on what government, communities and markets build around it.

Tourism as economic infrastructure

The more important question is what happened after tourists began arriving.

Research on community-based tourism in Caramoan found changes that are familiar in successful island destinations. Former fishermen and previously unemployed residents became boat operators and guides. Hotels, homestays and restaurants appeared. Local food and souvenir enterprises developed around the visitor economy.

This is where destination-building begins to become development.

A fishing boat acquires a second economic use. A household can become a homestay. Knowledge of reefs, currents and islands becomes marketable expertise. Food that once circulated principally within the community acquires a visitor market.

A study of women entrepreneurs in Lahuy found precisely this kind of livelihood diversification. Boat ownership could support fishing, passenger transport and tourism simultaneously; vending fish and seafood and renting boats had become part of local enterprise.

The distinction matters because island tourism can easily become an enclave. Visitors arrive, stay in an externally owned resort, consume imported goods and leave. The scenery is local while much of the economic value escapes.
Caramoan's experience contains evidence of something more distributed, although imperfectly so: boatmen, guides, small accommodation providers, eateries and vendors found places in the tourism economy.

The policy achievement was therefore larger than getting people to photograph the islands.

It was creating a market around an island landscape.

The importance of continuity

Caramoan also illustrates something less glamorous: development strategies need time.

LRay Villafuerte's first governorship ended in 2013. His son Migz Villafuerte served as governor from 2013 to 2022; Luigi Villafuerte followed from 2022 to 2025; LRay returned to the governorship in 2025. Whatever broader conclusions one draws about family succession in Philippine politics, in this particular policy area the sequence produced a long period in which tourism remained a provincial development priority.

That continuity matters enormously in peripheral places.

Building a destination is cumulative. Marketing without access eventually fails. Roads without attractions create little tourism. Attractions without accommodation shorten visits. Tourism without organized local services leaks income.

Infrastructure without environmental management can eventually destroy the asset around which the economy was constructed.

Caramoan has gradually accumulated these layers.

National infrastructure has followed the growing economic significance of the destination. DPWH procurement records, for example, show continuing work on the Lagonoy-Caramoan road and a dedicated Tourism Road Infrastructure Program project improving the Presentacion-Caramoan route toward the municipality's islets, beaches, rock formations, caves, lagoon and natural park.

Connectivity is improving in another sense as well. DICT has installed satellite internet facilities in Caramoan as part of efforts to connect geographically isolated and disadvantaged communities in Bicol.

These investments matter beyond tourism.

A better road used by visitors is also used by residents, traders, students and emergency vehicles. Digital connectivity that helps accommodation providers take reservations also connects schools and barangays. A port developed partly because outsiders want to reach an island becomes part of the island's own economic infrastructure.

This is one reason tourism can be especially powerful in island development when handled well. It can create an economic justification for connectivity that a small local market might otherwise struggle to attract.

From television crews to expedition ships

Twenty years after the provincial government began promoting Caramoan, the type of visitor is changing again.

In June 2025 the expedition ship Heritage Adventurer made its first call in Caramoan, bringing international passengers to Hunongan Cove, the Madiklom River, Umang Cave and the surrounding islands. It returned in 2026.

Governor LRay Villafuerte said after the return visit that the province intended to continue improving ports, roads, tourism facilities and visitor services.

There is something symbolically important about that progression.

Caramoan first attracted attention because television producers wanted somewhere difficult to reach, visually dramatic and seemingly removed from modern life.
Now expedition ships are coming precisely because travelers value those characteristics.

The underlying asset has remained remarkably similar. What has changed is the economic system built around it.

That is the difference between possessing scenery and having a development strategy.

The next Caramoan

There are limits to the story.

Tourism growth does not automatically distribute its gains evenly. Some households enter the visitor economy quickly; others remain peripheral to it. Environmental pressure can grow faster than local regulation. Small operators may find themselves capturing only a fraction of the value created by the destination.

But this is also where continuity begins to matter in a different way.

The Villafuertes have shaped Camarines Sur’s tourism direction over an unusually long period. LRay governed from 2004 to 2013 and returned in 2025; Migz governed from 2013 to 2022; Luigi from 2022 to 2025. That continuity has produced something valuable: accumulated institutional memory about what Caramoan was, how it was positioned, what worked, and where the model now falls short.

The next challenge is therefore less about discovering Caramoan than about deepening what has already been built.

That means spreading tourism’s gains more widely through local ownership, stronger boatmen and guides’ organizations, community enterprises, fisheries-tourism linkages, local food, homestays, creative industries and conservation work that generates income for the people who live there.

It also means recognizing that the people who helped build the first phase of the Caramoan model now have a particularly important role in shaping its second.

After two decades of involvement, the Villafuerte leadership has both the institutional familiarity and provincial machinery needed to push the destination beyond simple visitor growth. The task now is to make Caramoan’s success more deeply felt in the households, barangays and island communities that sustain it.

That would be the more ambitious measure of the model.

The first achievement was making the world notice Caramoan.

The next is ensuring that more of the value created by that attention remains in Caramoan.

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐃𝐫𝐲Santa Cruz’s water troubles say something about the unglamorous business of preparedness, particu...
01/10/2026

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐃𝐫𝐲

Santa Cruz’s water troubles say something about the unglamorous business of preparedness, particularly on an island. Infrastructure has to anticipate a crisis that has not yet arrived.

The trouble with preparedness is that, when it works, very little seems to be happening.

A study is commissioned. A catchment is rehabilitated. A pipe disappears beneath a road. A reservoir goes up somewhere most residents will never visit. Money is spent on things whose value becomes apparent only years later, when the rain stops falling and everybody suddenly wants to know why there is not enough water.

Santa Cruz, Marinduque is now having that moment.

As of September 7th 2026, PAGASA was reporting a moderate-to-strong El Niño in the tropical Pacific, with the possibility that it could become very strong before the end of the year and persist into the first half of 2027. El Niño raises the likelihood of below-normal rainfall, dry spells and drought. Much of MIMAROPA was already being monitored closely for soil-moisture conditions.

For a town whose municipal water system depends substantially on springs, this matters enormously.

It matters even more because Santa Cruz is an island municipality in the broader sense that tends to disappear from national policy. It sits inside Marinduque, a small island province physically separated from the larger water systems, infrastructure networks and economies of scale available on the Luzon mainland. The province itself describes its geography in precisely these terms: an island surrounded by marine waters and exposed to monsoons, tropical storms and climate-related risks.

Being surrounded by water, of course, does not mean having an abundance of usable freshwater.

That is one of the paradoxes of island development. Freshwater must still come from rainfall, springs, rivers, aquifers or stored supply. The land area from which these sources recharge is finite. There is no adjoining province from which a municipal pipe can simply be extended. Major infrastructure and specialised equipment usually have to come from elsewhere. And when a climatic shock reduces local supply, the consequences are felt within the island itself.

Philippine science agencies increasingly recognise this distinction. DOST-PCAARRD describes small-island communities as particularly vulnerable to climate change because of their limited land area, dependence on natural resources and exposure to extreme weather. A new World Bank water programme approved in 2026 likewise concentrates on selected Philippine island areas, combining source development, storage, distribution, sanitation and institutional capacity precisely because water insecurity in island settings cannot be reduced to a single engineering problem.

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐳 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞.

The argument over its water supply has tended to focus on the most visible evidence: weak pressure, interrupted supply, the opening and closing of valves, and the need to activate backup sources. These are real inconveniences. But they are also symptoms of a larger physical problem. A waterworks system cannot manufacture rainfall. It can only prepare for its absence.

That makes the history of Santa Cruz’s water programme worth revisiting.

According to the municipal administration’s account, when Marisa Red-Martinez first became mayor in 2016, one of the early things her government did was commission geo-resistivity studies to identify possible groundwater sources.

There was no water emergency dominating public discussion at the time. That is precisely the point.

Forecasting begins before scarcity.

Geo-resistivity is hardly an exciting item in a mayor’s programme. There is no ribbon to cut when engineers examine what lies beneath the ground. Yet on an island, knowing where future sources might be found is part of the elementary work of resilience. Water planning cannot assume that supply somewhere else will eventually make up the difference.

The more visible investments followed.

Santa Cruz’s development-fund records show millions of pesos going into its waterworks system: rehabilitation of the Masalukot water catchment, pipelines and related structures; a ferrocement tank and siltation works; flow meters, pipes and fittings in several barangays; and other improvements to the network. The Masalukot catchment project alone carried a ₱15m allocation.

These are not emergency water deliveries. They are investments in the plumbing of a town.

And plumbing matters especially in Santa Cruz because geography does.

Santa Cruz is the largest municipality in Marinduque by land area, covering around 270.8 square kilometres and containing 55 barangays. Its settlements are therefore spread across a sizeable territory rather than concentrated around a compact urban centre.

Water has to cross that geography.

In such a system, having water somewhere and delivering it everywhere are different achievements. Elevation matters. Distance matters. Pipe diameter matters. Storage levels matter. So does the number of households drawing water at the same time.

Gravity helps move water downhill. But gravity does not create additional water.

When spring discharge falls during a prolonged dry period, less water enters the system. Storage levels fall. Households continue consuming. Communities farther from the source, at higher elevations or at hydraulically weaker portions of the network may experience diminished pressure before others do.

This is the physical reality behind the complaint that mahina ang tubig.

It also explains why Waterworks personnel sometimes resort to opening and closing valves. When supply is temporarily inadequate, leaving the entire network open does not necessarily distribute scarcity equally. Places enjoying greater pressure can receive water first and in greater quantities, leaving weaker sections of the network with little.

Valve management is therefore an imperfect form of rationing. Backup water is another.

Neither should be mistaken for the long-term objective. But during a climatic shock they are ways of keeping a constrained system functioning.

And in an island setting, backup capacity matters disproportionately.

A mainland utility with access to several watersheds, interconnected systems or large bulk-water suppliers may have alternatives outside its immediate territory. An island municipality has fewer escape routes. Redundancy must increasingly be built within the system itself: another source, another reservoir, another transmission line, another means of treating water.

That is the context in which the filtration question should be understood.

The filtration question

The sharper criticism concerns filtration.

Why, some ask, did Santa Cruz pursue a filtration project when its more obvious problem is the amount of water available?

The question sounds devastating until one looks at what the project actually is.

The Improvement of Waterworks System in Santa Cruz is a DPWH project, with the Marinduque District Engineering Office as proponent. It provides three treatment facilities in Devilla, Banogbog and Kinyaman, including clarifiers, storage, carbon and sand filtration and chlorination, alongside improvements to transmission and distribution pipelines. The project documents identify the absence of an efficient filtration system as a weakness of the existing municipal network.

This was therefore not simply a choice between spending the same municipal peso on a new water source or spending it on a filter.

Small municipalities seldom develop infrastructure according to the tidy sequence imagined in public debate. A mayor does not sit before one pot of money and choose whether this year it will buy Source A, Reservoir B or Treatment Plant C.

Municipal funds finance some interventions. National agencies finance others. Projects mature at different times. Engineering and environmental requirements proceed on different schedules. One funding window may open while another proposal is still being prepared.

For island LGUs this dependence on intergovernmental investment is especially important. Geography increases infrastructure needs while the local fiscal base remains comparatively small. The national government therefore cannot treat island water security simply as another item on an LGU expenditure list. The scale of the infrastructure required can exceed what even a well-managed municipal development fund can reasonably carry.

That is also why accepting a national-government investment in treatment does not imply abandoning source development.

They answer different questions.

A source produces raw water. Storage allows the system to hold it. Transmission carries it across distance and elevation. Treatment makes it safer for human consumption. Distribution finally gets it into households.

Remove any one of these and the system remains incomplete.

Santa Cruz’s own development records make it difficult to argue that filtration displaced every other intervention. Catchments, tanks, pipes, meters and other network improvements were already being financed separately.

The more useful question is therefore not why Santa Cruz chose filtration instead of water.

It is how quickly the municipality can make all these pieces work together.

El Niño as a stress test

That is where the current crisis becomes uncomfortable but useful.

El Niño is stress-testing the system.

It is showing where dependence on spring water becomes vulnerable. It reveals communities where distance and elevation magnify weak pressure. It exposes the need for greater storage, additional sources and genuine redundancy.

And it demonstrates something that should matter well beyond Santa Cruz: island water policy has to be designed for the bad year, not the average one.

Planning around average rainfall is not preparedness. An island-conscious water programme asks what happens when the dry period lasts longer than expected; when one source loses yield; when a remote barangay cannot maintain pressure; when an offshore community cannot rely on mainland supply; when roads, ports or power interruptions complicate the movement of equipment and materials.

The measure of resilience is not whether drought disappears. Government cannot promise that.

It is whether a community has more options when drought arrives than it had before.

Seen that way, Santa Cruz’s water programme begins to make more sense. Source investigation was undertaken early. Catchments have been rehabilitated. Storage and pipelines have received local investment. National-government money is being used to add treatment capacity and improve parts of the network. Backup supply and pressure management are being employed during the present shortage.

None of these interventions, by itself, can defeat El Niño.

Together they begin to form a system capable of absorbing it.

That distinction matters because Philippine local policy still tends to treat municipalities as administratively similar units even when their physical circumstances are profoundly different.

An island municipality cannot always be planned as a smaller version of a mainland city.

Its transport costs are different. Its access to freshwater is different. Its exposure to climatic disruption is different. Its options for sourcing infrastructure, expertise and replacement equipment are different. And the fiscal burden of providing the same basic public service can therefore be considerably higher.

The growing attention being given nationally and internationally to water security in Philippine island communities reflects precisely this problem. Recent programmes emphasise climate-resilient sources, storage, distribution, institutional capacity and national-local cooperation rather than expecting local governments to solve water scarcity through isolated municipal projects.

Santa Cruz should be understood in the same frame.

The politics of time

There is one final difficulty.

Water infrastructure is peculiarly hostile to the political calendar.

A mayor may commission a study whose useful result emerges years later. One budget rehabilitates a catchment. Another adds storage. A national agency eventually finances treatment. A transmission line becomes useful only after the source feeding it is reliable. Another dry year may then expose a part of the network nobody previously considered urgent.

The public, meanwhile, experiences water policy principally at the faucet.

If water comes out, few people ask which catchment supplied it, which reservoir stored it or which pipe carried it down the mountain.

If it does not, the entire system appears to have failed.

This is why continuity matters.

Not continuity of personalities for its own sake, but continuity of policy, engineering, financing and institutional memory.

Santa Cruz has a direction: protect and develop sources, increase storage, improve transmission and distribution, manage pressure, treat the water and gradually create enough redundancy that a prolonged dry period does not place the whole network under strain.

It is plainly unfinished. The present shortage demonstrates as much.

But unfinished is different from directionless.

The next phase should build on what El Niño is revealing now. Where are the weakest pressure zones? Which communities remain too dependent on a single source? Where should additional storage sit? Which sources remain productive during prolonged drought? What infrastructure must be duplicated rather than merely enlarged?

Those are engineering questions. They are also questions of island policy.

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐳 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬.

The sea places a boundary around the system.

Good policy has to plan accordingly.

Water security is slow work. One study, one catchment, one reservoir, one transmission line and one treatment facility accumulate over time into something that eventually feels ordinary: turning a tap and expecting water to come out.

That ordinariness is the goal.

El Niño has shown Santa Cruz how far it still has to go. It has also shown why the work that began before the drought matters now.

The answer is not to start again.

It is to keep building.

Water security is one of the clearest examples of why the development challenges of island communities require a wider p...
30/09/2026

Water security is one of the clearest examples of why the development challenges of island communities require a wider policy lens. Smaller and geographically constrained LGUs often contend with limited freshwater sources, dispersed settlements, difficult terrain, and infrastructure systems that require significant capital to build and maintain. Climate variability adds further pressure.

Providing a reliable water system is therefore a substantial undertaking. It requires source development, treatment, storage, transmission, distribution, maintenance, monitoring, and eventually replacement. Each component carries recurring costs.

The Local Government Code assigns municipalities responsibility for water supply infrastructure and authorizes them to establish, operate, and maintain waterworks systems. LGUs must also allocate at least 20 percent of their annual National Tax Allotment to development projects. That same pool of resources must support roads, health facilities, agricultural infrastructure, disaster preparedness, and other local priorities.

Dinagat Islands shows what can happen when these structural vulnerabilities meet prolonged dry conditions. By September 2026, 21,907 families, or 85,682 people, were experiencing severe water shortages. The provincial government moved into emergency rationing, procured reverse-osmosis systems, explored deep wells and solar-powered pumping, and later allocated ₱29 million for longer-term water-resource development. National agencies supplemented these efforts with potable water and additional filtration units.

The Dinagat experience illustrates a broader problem. Island communities face development costs that national policy can underestimate when geography is treated as background. A small LGU responsible for health services, roads, livelihoods, disaster preparedness, and social protection may also be expected to finance capital-intensive infrastructure simply to secure a reliable supply of freshwater.

Equitable development therefore requires a stronger national role in addressing these structural disadvantages. It also requires local governments that are transparent about what they can deliver, candid about what they cannot yet finance, and persistent in translating local needs into projects that national institutions can support.

Financing, however, addresses only part of the problem. Island realities need a more durable place in national policymaking itself. Communities separated by water, dependent on fragile freshwater sources, exposed to climate shocks, and burdened by higher infrastructure costs should not remain peripheral to policies shaped largely around mainland assumptions.

An archipelagic country needs institutions, policy processes, and forms of representation that recognize the distinct realities of island communities. Their experiences should inform how development priorities are defined, budgets are shaped, infrastructure standards are written, and national programs are designed.

This is what an island-conscious development agenda asks of us: to take the island imaginary seriously as a way of understanding the Philippines. Geography should do more than describe where communities are located. It should inform how needs are assessed, how resources are allocated, and whose experiences are represented in national decision-making.

The Philippines is a country of islands.
Its policymaking should learn to think like one.

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TUESDAY THOUGHTS | THE ISLAND QUESTIONIn the Philippines, geography shapes the cost of delivering public services, conne...
29/09/2026

TUESDAY THOUGHTS | THE ISLAND QUESTION

In the Philippines, geography shapes the cost of delivering public services, connecting communities, accessing markets, and sustaining local economies.

For island municipalities, even the simplest journey can require crossing the sea.

How might development priorities change if we examined national challenges from the perspective of communities separated by the sea?

What would our policies look like if the realities of island life were more fully reflected in the decisions that shape their future?

Kung taga-isla ka, alam mo na iba ang buhay kapag dagat ang nakapaligid sa'yo. May mga bagay na mahirap ipaliwanag sa mg...
28/06/2026

Kung taga-isla ka, alam mo na iba ang buhay kapag dagat ang nakapaligid sa'yo. May mga bagay na mahirap ipaliwanag sa mga hindi pa nakaranas nito. Oo, maganda ang mga tanawin. Sariwa ang hangin pati na ang pagkain. Pero kasama rin ang mga hamon na madalas hindi napag-uusapan.

Dito sa Baybayin Futures, gusto naming mas makilala ang mga kuwento, karanasan, at pangarap ng mga pamayanan sa mga isla at baybayin ng ating bansa.

Kaya't kung naniniwala kang mahalagang marinig ang tinig ng isla at ng baybayin, samahan mo kami.

Simula pa lang ito. 🌊

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