The conversation has shifted. It is now about surging oil prices—not traffic, not even the ghost flood control projects that enriched a few with unexplained wealth.

I—and millions of motorists—now check diesel prices whenever we pass a gas station. Two nights ago, along Holy Spirit Drive in Quezon City, one station posted ₱93.70 per liter, up from ₱79.10 just 24 hours earlier. Two hundred meters away, another charged ₱105. A third: ₱98.10. The gap is as striking as the spike, and it changes almost by the hour.

Prices are expected to keep rising, driven by a war everyone is already talking about but few fully understand. Even my housekeeper now asks if what she sees on Facebook is true: Will there be food shortages? Brownouts? The anxiety is no longer confined to motorists. It is spreading across households, workplaces, and communities.

For many Filipinos, this is not abstract economics. It is daily life. Higher fuel costs, rising electricity rates, and expected increases in transport fares are tightening the squeeze on already stretched budgets. Every peso added to fuel ripples outward—into the price of food, the cost of deliveries, the fare for a daily commute.

The effects are already visible. Traffic in Metro Manila has thinned. Commutes are faster. Streets are quieter, with fewer tricycles weaving through neighborhoods. It feels like relief—but it is also a warning sign. Less movement often means less spending, fewer trips, and slower economic activity.

In our village, the Sunday after a ₱10-per-liter increase, the main street was nearly empty. No tricycles. Few cars. Late morning felt like Good Friday, not a typical Sunday of errands, family lunches, and small neighborhood commerce. The silence was noticeable—and unsettling.

I have seen this before.

During the 1970s oil crisis, fuel shortages led to rationing. Motorists lined up for hours, sometimes only to be turned away. I remember guarding our family’s gas coupons—150 liters a month—and helping ration them among my brothers, making sure each trip was necessary.

A small black market emerged. Those who managed to save coupons sold them. Trucking companies, especially in Negros where sugarcane had to be transported to mills, were always looking for more. Fuel was not just expensive—it was scarce, controlled, and deeply uncertain.

Life adjusted quickly. Carpooling became routine. Trips were planned, not impulsive. Leisure travel shrank. You did not drive unless you had to. People learned to stretch every liter, to combine errands, to rethink mobility altogether.

Today, there is no rationing. Not yet. But the pressure feels familiar—and it is building.

Jeepney drivers are struggling as fuel costs outpace fare adjustments. Delivery riders—now essential to the digital economy—are earning less from each trip. Commuters face longer waits and higher fares. Even those who rarely drive are affected, as fuel costs push up the price of goods and services across the board.

The lesson from the 1970s is simple: adapt—but adaptation has limits.

Then, people carpooled, walked, and cycled—not by choice, but by necessity. Today, those options are returning, this time supported by policy and infrastructure. Bike lanes have expanded across Metro Manila. Workplaces are adding bike parking and repair stations. Some local governments deploy enforcers to help cyclists cross busy intersections.

Just this week, the Metro Manila Development Authority opened a Bike-to-Work End-of-Trip facility in Pasig, equipped with showers, racks, and changing areas. More are planned across the metropolis. These are practical steps—small, but necessary—in helping commuters adjust.

But they are not enough on their own.

The bigger task is clear. Public transportation must be reliable, efficient, and affordable. Walking and cycling must be safe and accessible options, not afterthoughts. And the shift to renewable energy must accelerate if the country is to reduce its dependence on imported oil and shield itself from global shocks.

Fuel anxiety is back. And it is not just about prices at the pump.

It is about uncertainty—about how far incomes can stretch, how long businesses can absorb rising costs, and how households can cope with one increase after another. It is about the quiet decisions families make every day: whether to travel, to spend, or to stay home.

The crisis may look different from the 1970s, but the question remains the same: how do we sustain daily life when fuel becomes a burden—and when relief is nowhere in sight? (Email: [email protected])