I once watched a concrete road—smooth enough for bicycles and baby strollers—get pulverized by huge jackhammers attached to heavy vehicles, then left raw and jagged under the sun. Weeks turned into months, and nothing followed but dust, puddles, and excuses. That practice has become commonplace, and those who order it should be ashamed.
I have no quarrel with real road maintenance. Roads age, cracks widen, drainage fails—repairs are necessary and welcome. What angers me is the habit of destroying what is still passable, as if damage itself were proof of work, as if noise and rubble were substitutes for completion. A road that once served people decently becomes a daily punishment simply because someone decided to start something they had no plan—or will—to finish.
Every bumpy ride tells a story of carelessness. I feel it in my spine when a jeepney lurches, in my patience when traffic crawls, not because of volume but because of craters.
Motorcyclists wobble, pedestrians sidestep mud, and drivers curse under their breath. These are not small inconveniences; these are daily harms quietly passed on to ordinary people who never signed up for an endless “under repair” experiment.
What makes it worse is the equipment parade—the heavy machines roaring like a promise—followed by a long, awkward silence. Once the road is broken, the machines vanish, the workers move on, and the site becomes an open wound. No barriers, no urgency, no visible timetable. Just a scar across the neighborhood, aging badly, collecting trash and rainwater like an unwanted souvenir.
Visitors notice these things immediately. They don’t need explanations or press releases; the road speaks for itself. A town with unfinished streets looks careless, no matter how warm the smiles are or how good the food tastes. I’ve seen places lose their charm not because they lacked beauty, but because they lacked follow-through.
I often ask myself what kind of thinking approves this. Is it the urge to spend before the year ends? Is it the need to show activity rather than results? Whatever the reason, it reflects a mindset that values starting over finishing, destruction over discipline. It treats public space as disposable and the public’s patience as unlimited.
There is also a quiet cruelty in this practice. The elderly hesitate to cross broken roads. Small shop owners watch customers avoid their side of the street. Emergency vehicles slow down where speed matters most. All this, simply because someone thought it was acceptable to tear up a road without the decency to see it through.
The solution is not complicated, and it does not require heroics. If a road is still usable, leave it alone until funds, materials, and schedules are ready. When repair truly begins, finish it—promptly, cleanly, and with respect for the people who live on and pass through it. Roads are not props for announcements; they are concrete promises that should be kept.
