I was barely a teenager back then but typhoons have been as ordinary as air is to lungs. From where I grew up, which is a town adjacent to Naga City, tropical depressions and storms were not uncommon. The rest of the Bicol region has had its own taste of tempests in the past, and to this day the older folks can still invoke lucid memories of those moments. Rosing and Monang were only two of the strongest weather aberrations that befell the region and the rest of the country in previous years. I do not exactly recall when and what time they respectively surged through the region, but I do remember that what they left in their wake was nothing short of catastrophic. I recall that our part of the town, which is one of the lowest portions in the entire province, looked more like a vast lake with trees and rooftops scattered across after the fury of the storms. We literally had to swim our way to safer grounds while the winds were tearing the roofs of our neighboring houses apart. Ours had nipa back then and from where I stood I could easily see how they fluttered aimlessly, giving ample space for the wind and rain to force their way straight inside. That was before the flood. By the time the water was already waist-deep inside and chest-deep outside, my father and I finally left the house and resolved to stay at a friend's abode some quarter of a kilometer away. It was not so much of a bad thing that my mother and my younger brother were not at home during that time. They were in Batangas, returning several days after the waters have subsided.
I do not know now if it was typhoon Rosing or Monang, but either way the onslaught was more of the same.
Then came Milenyo. I was in college and I lived in a dormitory off campus together with a close friend. While the worst of Milenyo was unfolding before Los Baños a minute after the next, we decided to get drunk. It was a way for us to knock our senses silly, to the point that the water dripping from the roof our room and the water flowing on the street just outside the door looked as if they posed no threat to our safety. And so as our boldness took the most part of our sensibilities, we rushed outside and ran to the nearest convenience store. On our way, we could not have mistaken the tree trunks and sheets of metal roofs spinning several meters off the ground. On our way, too, we could not have mistaken the electric posts lodged from one side of the road to the other, making the stretch of the road leading to campus impassable to any vehicle. At any rate, we gleefully returned to our humble spot with bottles of beer on both hands. The following day, tens of people died in Los Baños alone, with most of the toll coming from areas surrounding Mount Makiling. The sun was nowhere the next morning but we were relieved for the simple reason that we lived for another day.
And then there was Ondoy. It was a Saturday morning, about eight, and I just left Los Baños after a night's gig. Even before leaving town, the rain was already gathering strength. Unfortunately, while the bus I was riding was in Alabang, the expressway became flooded. The vehicle had to stop; I was stranded for the next two to three hours just waiting for the water to go down to levels enough for the bus to drive through. By that time, the bus still had to find its way to EDSA. I can only be thankful now that the driver was wise enough to look for passable ways in places within Makati City not frequented by provincial buses. It was exhilarating, knowing for a fact that a slight error of decision could eventually make the bus engine go dead in a matter of seconds, and owing largely to how the depth of the flood became increasingly unpredictable in those areas. But to make the story shorter, the driver was able to reach EDSA near Guadalupe. I alighted and from there I took the MRT going to Cubao. I thought life was going to be a lot easier from there, but I was wrong by a huge margin. Apart from the long line of passengers, the trains were too crowded. I had to force and push my way inside, not minding if somebody else was reaching into my pockets or was reaching for something else. I leave your fertile imagination to belabor the other point.
Upon reaching Cubao, I then hurried to the LRT station while I still lugged my guitar on my right shoulder. It was heavy but I could no longer feel the strain as the impulse to get home overcame any hint of physical wear and tear. I thought the struggle would end upon arriving at Gateway. Again, I was wrong by a wide mile. The line of passengers waiting to purchase a ticket for a ride home stretched far enough to dissolve any lingering hope of going home earlier than expected. The same story happened. Inside the train, the travel time felt like the longest ten minutes of my life. By the time I was home, it was a little over nine in the evening.
I can only begin to imagine the misery felt by those who were at the mercy of Ondoy. Where I live today, there is little showing of the wrath of the typhoon, but farther down Marikina I know the conditions were much worse. The same is true in most other parts of Metro Manila. From watching news reports, I can only think of the scale of anguish of those who lost their relatives, some never to find any of them again. The mud made it all the more difficult to pursue the rescue operations and to commence the efforts of households to clean their homes. The lack of electricity and potable water, notwithstanding the insufficiency of temporary relocation centers from where the evacuees could stay, make life for them doubly troublesome. Which is why civil society has shown more of its civil side, volunteering to provide assistance to those who badly need help in any way possible. Only the subhuman mind with subhuman emotions cannot feel the instinct to lend a helping hand. No, it's not even subhuman as animals themselves have shown the capacity to help without having to first deal with the conflicts of personal interests. It's way below the pyramid of all living organisms.
Others feel powerless to help. Despite the genuine willingness of both body and soul, the huge distance separating them between here and there can only make them afford thoughts of good intentions. What they lack in deed they make up for their thoughts. Some others donate items in cash or in kind in the hope of adding to the volumes of relief goods waiting to be delivered to the victims of the typhoon. What they lack in presence they make up for their magnanimity. Some politicians hand the people with food in Styrofoam containers with their name on it, or their political insignia on it. What they lack in delicadeza or sense of propriety they make up for their opportune attempts at campaigning, even in these dire times. Not that there's something wrong with feeding the hungry, or curing the sick, or giving shelter to the homeless. It's that there's everything patently wrong with shameless and insincere political plugging of names when the people have no other choice but to survive. It is perhaps the perfect storm, which is a perfect time to take advantage of the woes of the people.
Well, almost perfect.
I do not know now if it was typhoon Rosing or Monang, but either way the onslaught was more of the same.
Then came Milenyo. I was in college and I lived in a dormitory off campus together with a close friend. While the worst of Milenyo was unfolding before Los Baños a minute after the next, we decided to get drunk. It was a way for us to knock our senses silly, to the point that the water dripping from the roof our room and the water flowing on the street just outside the door looked as if they posed no threat to our safety. And so as our boldness took the most part of our sensibilities, we rushed outside and ran to the nearest convenience store. On our way, we could not have mistaken the tree trunks and sheets of metal roofs spinning several meters off the ground. On our way, too, we could not have mistaken the electric posts lodged from one side of the road to the other, making the stretch of the road leading to campus impassable to any vehicle. At any rate, we gleefully returned to our humble spot with bottles of beer on both hands. The following day, tens of people died in Los Baños alone, with most of the toll coming from areas surrounding Mount Makiling. The sun was nowhere the next morning but we were relieved for the simple reason that we lived for another day.
And then there was Ondoy. It was a Saturday morning, about eight, and I just left Los Baños after a night's gig. Even before leaving town, the rain was already gathering strength. Unfortunately, while the bus I was riding was in Alabang, the expressway became flooded. The vehicle had to stop; I was stranded for the next two to three hours just waiting for the water to go down to levels enough for the bus to drive through. By that time, the bus still had to find its way to EDSA. I can only be thankful now that the driver was wise enough to look for passable ways in places within Makati City not frequented by provincial buses. It was exhilarating, knowing for a fact that a slight error of decision could eventually make the bus engine go dead in a matter of seconds, and owing largely to how the depth of the flood became increasingly unpredictable in those areas. But to make the story shorter, the driver was able to reach EDSA near Guadalupe. I alighted and from there I took the MRT going to Cubao. I thought life was going to be a lot easier from there, but I was wrong by a huge margin. Apart from the long line of passengers, the trains were too crowded. I had to force and push my way inside, not minding if somebody else was reaching into my pockets or was reaching for something else. I leave your fertile imagination to belabor the other point.
Upon reaching Cubao, I then hurried to the LRT station while I still lugged my guitar on my right shoulder. It was heavy but I could no longer feel the strain as the impulse to get home overcame any hint of physical wear and tear. I thought the struggle would end upon arriving at Gateway. Again, I was wrong by a wide mile. The line of passengers waiting to purchase a ticket for a ride home stretched far enough to dissolve any lingering hope of going home earlier than expected. The same story happened. Inside the train, the travel time felt like the longest ten minutes of my life. By the time I was home, it was a little over nine in the evening.
I can only begin to imagine the misery felt by those who were at the mercy of Ondoy. Where I live today, there is little showing of the wrath of the typhoon, but farther down Marikina I know the conditions were much worse. The same is true in most other parts of Metro Manila. From watching news reports, I can only think of the scale of anguish of those who lost their relatives, some never to find any of them again. The mud made it all the more difficult to pursue the rescue operations and to commence the efforts of households to clean their homes. The lack of electricity and potable water, notwithstanding the insufficiency of temporary relocation centers from where the evacuees could stay, make life for them doubly troublesome. Which is why civil society has shown more of its civil side, volunteering to provide assistance to those who badly need help in any way possible. Only the subhuman mind with subhuman emotions cannot feel the instinct to lend a helping hand. No, it's not even subhuman as animals themselves have shown the capacity to help without having to first deal with the conflicts of personal interests. It's way below the pyramid of all living organisms.
Others feel powerless to help. Despite the genuine willingness of both body and soul, the huge distance separating them between here and there can only make them afford thoughts of good intentions. What they lack in deed they make up for their thoughts. Some others donate items in cash or in kind in the hope of adding to the volumes of relief goods waiting to be delivered to the victims of the typhoon. What they lack in presence they make up for their magnanimity. Some politicians hand the people with food in Styrofoam containers with their name on it, or their political insignia on it. What they lack in delicadeza or sense of propriety they make up for their opportune attempts at campaigning, even in these dire times. Not that there's something wrong with feeding the hungry, or curing the sick, or giving shelter to the homeless. It's that there's everything patently wrong with shameless and insincere political plugging of names when the people have no other choice but to survive. It is perhaps the perfect storm, which is a perfect time to take advantage of the woes of the people.
Well, almost perfect.
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