The island that remembered why people came

Let me tell you a story about an island.

It was not a rich island, at least not in the way we usually measure wealth. But the sea was clear. Fish could still be found near the shore. Trees gave shade to houses, while mangroves stood quietly between the village and the waves.

People began coming to see it.

At first, there were only a few visitors. Families opened spare rooms in their homes. Fishers took guests out in their boats. Someone sold food near the beach. Someone else offered rides from the port.

Life became a little better. Parents paid school expenses. Roofs were repaired. Young people who might have left found work close to home.

Then more visitors came.

The narrow road had to be widened. More rooms were needed. Some trees blocked the view. Mangroves occupied space that could be used for cottages. Boats began anchoring closer to the reef because that was where visitors wanted to go.

The island also needed to expand its water supply, electricity and waste management. But in the enthusiasm to welcome more guests with new resorts, longer piers and beautiful attractions, these quiet necessities were easily outpaced.

No one intended to harm the island. Each decision seemed small. Many made sense at the time. Each one solved a problem, brought income or made the place easier to visit.

For a while, the numbers were good.

Then the wells became less reliable. Garbage appeared where the tide left it. Fishers traveled farther to find their catch. Parts of the reef lost their color. When a strong storm came, the waves reached farther inland.

The roads were cleared. Damaged cottages were repaired. Photos were posted to show that the island was ready to welcome visitors again.

Yet, the quiet charm that first drew the crowds had faded.

Some proposed a new campaign. Others wanted another attraction. An old boatman listened and finally asked:

“Naalala pa ba natin kung bakit sila pumunta rito?”

Do we still remember why they came?

The island had not prospered because people replaced nature. Life improved because people found ways to draw livelihood from what nature provided. Tourism had been good for the island. It created opportunities that mattered.

The mistake was not welcoming visitors. It was allowing today’s gains to weaken what could have sustained prosperity tomorrow.

So the community began again — not by turning visitors away, but by taking better care of what welcomed them in the first place. The reef was given room to recover. Mangroves were restored where they were most needed. Water, waste and new construction became part of the same conversation as arrivals and investments.

It was not immediate, and not everyone agreed at first. But the island remembered that protecting its natural beauty was not separate from developing tourism. It was how tourism could endure.

This story is imagined. Its choices are familiar.

Across the Philippines, tourism creates livelihoods, supports local enterprise and allows the world to experience the extraordinary natural and cultural wealth of our islands. Its continued growth is something we should welcome — and prepare for wisely.

Climate change makes that preparation more important. Rising seas, stronger storms, extreme heat and changing rainfall will place greater pressure on destinations, particularly where ecosystems are already damaged or basic services have not kept pace with development.

Our National Adaptation Plan, completed under President Ferdinand R. Marcos Jr., asks us to prepare before damage is done. For tourism, this begins with a simple understanding: A destination is more than its hotels and attractions. It includes the water people drink, the food they eat, the livelihoods they depend on and the natural protection around them.

To preserve our ecosystem, we do not need to keep it at a distance. Filipinos have always lived with it and drawn sustenance from it. It can support tourism, enterprise and progress.

But it must be used, not abused. Utilized, not usurped.

As we mark World Tourism Day on 27 September, we should continue asking how tourism can welcome more visitors, create more opportunities and improve more lives.

We should also ask whether our islands will still remember themselves after the visitors leave.

And perhaps we should ask the same of ourselves. Amid all our building, earning and wanting more, do we still remember our reasons for living — and the source of life itself?

Nature is not only what people come to see. It is what allows communities to prosper, economies to grow and life itself to thrive.