Four years. That’s exactly how long it has been since the strongest typhoon hit my province Leyte and devastated many. Time really flies, but I can still remember how an hour or so, in the morning on this very same day 4 yrs ago, became the longest time of my life. I can fully remember how heavy the rain was, how cold it felt, how strong and hurting the wind, how the horror started. I cannot forget how I recited almost all the prayers I knew then, to ask God to save us, to look after my family whom I was not with, for everyone to survive and for Yolanda to stop being the furious typhoon that it was.
I remember well how it looked outside the house, almost gray, blurry, wrecked houses, fallen trees, how the parts of the house were gradually breaking apart, the window glasses, the doors, the ceilings, and the sounds made each time the wind would smash them. I cannot forget the moment I realized that the flood was coming inside the house, and how I felt when in just a couple of minutes, it got up to my knees and then to my abdomen and when the stuff in the house started floating. I cannot forget what I was like when I moved up to the table and then it flipped over, and how I was panicking but at the same time trying to be calm because I had to help my companion (ex-bf now) think of how we could survive. Just good thing, he remembered the sink before the water reached my height (5 something), because if not, I might not have been here writing this. We were really lucky that sink was strong, and it eventually stopped pouring because we didn’t have anything else to hang on to as we were trapped inside the house.
Four years. It seems like a long time but everyone hasn’t really moved on. Many are still rebuilding their houses, their lives. Many still talk about it. And I guess, no survivor will forget about it even when they get really old.
This kind of thing, it’s not one of those I like talking about, or opening up about, to be honest, not only because each time I do, I get reminded of the aftermath which was just as hard, or probably even worse and it makes me sad remembering the devastations, the dead bodies I saw lying around and their foul odor, and the crying, hopeless, homeless and hungry survivors, but also because I’m trying to avoid getting asked of questions like why I wasn’t home, what was happening then that I was with the person I was with, like those kinds of things matter, although I understand people may be curious. However, since I’m blessed to have been given a second life, I feel I’m obliged to share my experience, especially to those people whom I’ve lied to when they asked me about it, like where I was when it happened, and what it was like because I told them I was home when when I was not. I made up a story and I apologize. 😣
Anyway, may all those whose lives were cut short find eternal peace in heaven and continue to watch from up there over their loves ones who are still grieving and missing them. May the organizations and all the kind hearted people who helped us rebuild our lives continue to help people in need. And may God continue to bless them, and us survivors, and may He give us more strength so we may find courage to go on with our lives amd pursue our aspirations.
I really do pray that such horrifying thing won’t ever happen again and I hope God hears it. 🙏
*Photo credits to CNN Philippines.