“We are okay. The situation is under control.”
That’s the assurance from the administration of Ferdinand Marcos Jr. as tensions simmer in the Gulf of Hormuz, a narrow strip of water that somehow dictates how much a Cebuano pays for a ride, a meal, or even a kilo of fish.
On paper, everything sounds comforting: shipments continue, routes remain open, and government says relief is ready. There’s even a law, Republic Act 12316, meant to suspend fuel excise taxes.
Only problem? It’s still waiting for its implementing rules.
In other words, naa na sa papel, pero wala pa sa tinuod.
So yes, we are “okay.” Just not where it matters.
Because oil prices don’t follow press briefings. They follow tension. And right now, tension is high, nerves are higher, and the market reacts faster than any policy can.
Yes, tankers are passing. No shortage. Good.
But prices? Still climbing.
Even Enrique Manalo flagged the “success” of talks with Iranian diplomats, calling it a “safe pass” for Philippine oil shipments. Safe pass. Sounds reassuring.
But how safe is safe?
Safe enough for headlines, perhaps. But not safe enough to guarantee stable prices. Not safe enough to stop the weekly increases that quietly eat into daily living.
Because while diplomacy is talking, the market is already moving.
And in Cebu, you can feel it.
The jeepney driver in Colon recalculates his boundary, wondering if today’s earnings will still cover fuel. The fish vendor in Pasil adjusts prices before sunrise, blaming gasolina even before customers can ask. The carenderia in Mabolo serves a little less rice, stretches the sud an a bit thinner, hoping regulars
won’t notice.
No one is panicking.
But everyone is adjusting.
That’s the real story.
The government points to excise tax suspension as a solution. But even that remains stuck between approval and implementation. And even if it fully kicks in, the question remains, why stop there? Why not suspend the 12 percent VAT, or both, while the situation is clearly unstable?
Because to the ordinary Cebuano, tax
categories don’t matter. What matters is
the presyo.
And the presyo is not okay.
We are “okay” in supply, but struggling in cost. “Okay” in statements, but tightening in real life. “Okay” in theory, but in practice, ‘lisod’ na.
And ‘lists’ is not a small word.
It means budgets stretched, meals adjusted, plans postponed. It means carrying on, not because things are fine, but because there is no other choice.
So yes, the ships are moving. The routes are open. The government is speaking.
But on the ground, in Colon, in Carbon, in every small kitchen and crowded jeep, people are already telling a different truth.
We are not okay. Okay?
