It starts with a drizzle. Then a few wiper swipes. The instant flood. For years, we’ve lived in this city where one good rain turns roads into rivers and pedestrians into people who suddenly look like they’re checking for fish under every step.

You know it’s serious when the rescue boat starts floating.

There’s a rhythm to this. You peek outside and see your street slowly vanish under brownish mystery water. The group chats start buzzing. One netizen posts, “Still passable.” Another sends a blurry photo of floating mineral water bottles. Then someone shares a TikTok video of kids backstroking in flood water.

Raincoats come out. Plastic bags cover shoes. Some brave souls wear slippers and carry office shoes in a tote bag. The waterproof backpack makes a comeback. And if you’re feeling fancy, you even consider the overpriced rain boots you swore were only for Japan or your next trip to Jeju Island.

Somewhere along Maysilo Circle, a jeepney is creating its own tidal wave. Tricycles slow to a crawl, turning into confused seahorses. Motorcycles and delivery riders start hopping onto sidewalks like they’re in a video game. One wrong move and the milk tea’s topping is rainwater.

That’s when you see who’s built for the flood, and who should’ve just stayed home. You can tell how confident people are based on how they enter the flood.

First, you see a sedan attempt to cross bravely, and instantly regret it. The driver stops halfway, hazards blinking, slowly drifting to the side. You try not to make eye contact. You’ve been there.

Then comes the compact SUV, slowly inching forward. It’s a gamble, and they know it.

Suddenly, a chunky 4x4 rolls through like a main character, splashing confidently and getting everyone around it slightly wetter and slightly more bitter. There’s always that guy.

And then, there’s this guy.

Out of nowhere, a shadow glides through the floodwaters, unbothered and looking like it came straight from a commercial shoot.

While sedans cautiously tiptoed and motorbikes took the sidewalk route, the BYD Shark breezed through like it had somewhere important to be and was not about to let a little climate change stop it.

People stared. Some pointed. No heroic rescues, no barangay drama. Just silent dominance as if to say, “You do the floating. I’ll do the driving.”

In the Philippines, rain doesn’t knock. It just shows up, causes traffic and messes with your day.

Some cars stop. Some turn back.

But the BYD Shark keeps going like the flood was not even there.