The Calm After the Storm

What would you do if you woke up on a lazy Saturday morning to the sound of rain?

Would you drift back to sleep, as many others did this past weekend, only to wake up later to the same thing?

Or would your heart race? Would your blood run cold? Would you wake with a start, leap from your bed, and rush to the window only to dread a look outside for fear of what you might see? For many, the answer depends on when the question was asked…and where they were when Ketsana – known locally as Ondoy – arrived.

An old saying warns about not knowing what you have until it’s lost. But until the storm came, you didn’t feel the weight of those words. On that unfortunate weekend, the only hints of what was to come were the familiar sounds of pouring rain and splashes made by passing cars. But the rain never stopped, even hours after you’ve waked, and the splashes soon turned into waves that ended feet from your door.

Shortly past noon, the flood entered your house. And you and your family propped pieces of furniture inches above the floor. When the rain didn’t cease, you raised them yet again, this time with your other belongings. You did so once more as the flood advanced further into your home. Before long, water had reached the electrical sockets, forcing you to cut off the power. Yet still, the rain didn’t stop. Soon everything you owned was at least a foot above the ground. But as the flood grew, you feared none of it was truly safe.

After some final preparations, you decided to leave. By then, the flood had already engulfed your bed. Valuables sat atop tables, countertops, and wooden shelves. Anything you could carry was wrapped in plastic and strapped to your back, save for your six-month-old beagle that shivered in your arms. You turned to the door knowing nothing could be done to save what you were about to leave behind.

Waiting outside was the incessant storm, which you chose to face to seek refuge elsewhere. Unlike your own, the home of a nearby relative had a 2^nd floor to escape to.

The flood was waist-high at the time of your departure, and a surprisingly strong current pushed you as you walked. A glance around you confirmed that it had also invaded others’ homes and claimed their belongings. Only the top halves of cars were visible above the water, and the remains of domestic fixtures, furniture, and possessions swept past you and all others who dared to brave the storm in search of sanctuary.

Despite the rain, current, and weight of your load, you advanced through the flood without much complication. But it grew deeper as you neared your destination. You lifted your things above your head as the flood reached your chest. You ended your journey with a final burst of effort, and looked up to see people watching from the balcony above. Their faces – both strange and familiar – held both concern and disbelief.

That night, sleep came early. It was only 8:30 when you retired to bed, hours after drying up, settling down, and making sure your loved ones were safe where they sought refuge. Though you retired early, the hours prior to your surrender were filled with troubled thoughts and an image of the last thing you saw when you looked down at the streets: rising water and slowly vanishing car roofs.

Bad as the night was, the day that followed was worse.

Unlike the day before, the rain was brief and scarce. Rather than rising, the flood subsided. And instead of separating, your family came together. But that day was the first of many you spent trying to cope with what you lost.

One look inside your house made you realize that the hours you spent trying to save your belongings were for naught. Food, clothes, furniture, books, electronics, photos, and memorabilia – almost everything you owned was taken away in a day.

Mud and filth covered every crevice of your home. Its doors were barricaded by upturned tables; its rooms littered with ruined books and garments; its single hallway blocked by a massive fridge laying flat on its side, which took the strength of four people to lift upright. Flood still remained, but was shallower than before. Along the walls, the previous day’s flood line was still visible — inches above your head.

Tragedies happen every day, but you never thought you’d ever become a victim. Disbelief quickly gave in to resentment, and you spent the next few hours in silent frustration. It was then when you first heard stories about the havoc Ondoy had unleashed in and out of your area. The news of ravaged homes, missing people, and floating corpses made you recognize the fact that despite your losses, you were actually among the fortunate.

Over the next few days, you and your family had to let go of things that took you years to earn. But it eventually became easier to say goodbye to luxuries and keepsakes, and the bitterness faded, slowly but surely, as you learned to celebrate small victories and the things you took for granted.

Like forgotten books that miraculously survived. Old photographs you never bothered to look at anymore. Kind words that you got to read one last time before the ink washed away. Precious minutes of conversation among family and friends. And the knowledge that though you’ve lost so much, you weren’t left with nothing.

You realized that after Ondoy, the perspectives of many may never be the same. In the wake of the storm, they may have discovered what’s truly important.

You may not have experienced these actual events, but if you were hit by Ondoy, what you went through can’t be that different. You, too, may have experienced the sting of loss. And hopefully, you, too, found something to make up for it.

Whatever you lost, whatever you gained, my prayers go out to you and everyone else affected by the sudden storm. May we all find a way to reclaim our lives and keep the lessons we’ve learned.

And lend a helping hand to those who still need it.