the year of the flood

We all have our encounters with disaster, whether it is physical or conceptual. Late last year, my home province was shaken by a 7.2 magnitude earthquake, our home luckily spared by its great tremor. But this year, just last week, the same home was flooded within a day’s rain. Our home never experienced a flooding until that morning. The basement level was submerged in water more than two-feet deep, thigh-high. Around the neighborhood electrical lines and cables snapped in halves by fallen trees and debris whisked into the air by strong winds. To think that it was just a signal no. 1 typhoon.

We all have a feeling the said earthquake has tilted not only the land our house is located but every imaginable place around, changing the topography of the island which, in return, has made our area a catch-basin of rainwater. Many accounts have been shared about dry places transforming into miniature lakes, and beaches with the sea retreating away from their shorelines. Indeed, nothing is ever constant, everything shifts and moves, even the grounds we stand upon. Now it is a matter if we move on and move along or not.

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Update: It has been forecasted that another tropical cyclone is on its way, possibly hitting the Visayas once again by Thursday. And it will be strong. Whether it would really enter the Philippine area of responsibility or not, Bohol, do not rely on resilience. Know your hotlines:

Police Department: 166
Fire Department: 112
Telephone and Radio System Integrated Emergency Response: 117

rage against the storm

My poem "Original Tempest" made it to VERSES TYPHOON YOLANDA: A Storm of Filipino Poets, edited by award-winning writer Eileen R. Tabios. This groundbreaking anthology that features 132 works from poets in the Philippines and around the world is also a fundraising publication with all of its profits donated to relief organizations assisting the survivors of the largest typhoon ever recorded on land. Support the cause, rage against the storm.

Click here for orders.

defeated yesterday

The umbrellas were. And everything that was on me, actually.

Early in the morning last September 27, Pedring proved to be a typhoon for any rational man in Metro Manila to be wary of. But since no message of work being canceled came to me, I set off with the faintest idea at the back of my head that I deserve an Employee of the Year Award. Not even the sixteenth typhoon that visited our country could stop me.

Outside, the winds so strong, I felt like in any minute I would ascend to the heavens like Remedios the Beauty. And what downpour that day poured. I pitied my swaying umbrella, but I still honestly thought of myself lucky compared to those who were drenched in their corporate uniforms and trendy BPO getups. Whereas my umbrella swayed, enduring the elements, theirs had seen better days. At least that made me smile.

I arrived in the office just to receive news that we would have a half-day work in the interest of all employees’ safety. I was not sure if I would meet this piece of info with enthusiasm or disappointment. The howling winds in the elevator vents and shaking glass walls of our floor were not helping me clear my mind either. I busied myself with work, work, work until 12:30pm.

When I left the office, the weather did not change. It got worse. Insert heavy sigh here. So I stowed my weary umbrella in my bag, zipped up my jacket, and braved the storm while singing Rufus Wainwright’s “Hallelujah” on the way home. I arrived home safe and sound.

the rain last night

Grasses flattened on their roots, great lengths of streets flooded, varying articles of clothing spread everywhere, concrete road signs toppled, walls crumbled, trunks and branches of once sturdy trees fell on the ground.

Apocalyptic, it was a scene of total disarray, the moment I went out of the house early to avoid the morning rush to work. And all of that in a place I thought was secure. Well, nothing was secure in the wake of Basyang (international name: Conson). Yes, it’s signal number two in Metro Manila.

In my bed last night, turning over and over again sleepless, I thought, if I could hear the troubling clanging of my neighbors’ roofs right now, what about the shanties and those homeless people? It made me more restless. The howling of the wind and lashing of the rain on my windows were not helping either.

Now here I am in the office, trying to recollect the whirlwind of postulations that gave me three hours of rest last night, trying to rub off the temptation of sleep in my eyes. It’s back to reality, they say.