Beaten But Still Standing

Undang, Ruping, Rosing, Milenyo, Frank, Ondoy, and Pepeng. I've lost track of the other typhoons that had lashed out in our country, since an average of 20 typhoons strike us and our South East Asian neighbors each year. These few, however, have been ingrained in my memory, because I've seen how they adversely changed, not only our landscape but also our lives.

I was only a year old when Undang, recorded as one of RP's deadliest typhoons hit the country. Mama used to tell us how a floating bunch of bananas was carefully washed, boiled, and became their dinner.  Our eldest sister would now and then recall how the neighborhood looked like it was built on water. That time,  the Panay River rose, and with the continuous downpour, flooded our province.

In 1990, Ruping  killed 748 people in the Philippines, and later in 1995,  Rosing left with 936 deaths. When these typhoons came, each of them left with a whooping P11-billion damage and millions of families displaced. Both typhoons slammed on us. Although day and night we worry for our families and ourselves, the next mornings promised better, fairer days. So momentarily, our fear was gone. With some kids in the neighborhood, we were more preoccupied with going after catfish which made their way into our neighborhood when nearby fishponds and streams overflowed.

Reming, Milenyo, Frank, Ondoy, and Peping came years after. The recent onslaught of Ondoy and Pepeng have been all over the news and the Internet. For several days, we were glued to TV and Internet updates, hoping that our friends and families would be spared or that the convergence of the super typhoons as seen on the news would disintegrate altogether.

Strong winds have battered houses and the flashfloods have buried homes--again leaving thousands of our kababayan (countrymen) homeless and missing family members. Despite the damages and the losses, we have once again proven that nothing is too insurmountable for us. We are such hopeful people and a "happy race" as foreigners describe. Where else would you see evacuees waving and smiling for the news camera?

As typical to countries near the equator, our climate gives us high temperatures and high humidity during the hot and dry season, and abundant rainfall  (which average at 80 inches) between July-November. The most formidable of typhoons usually hit us in November. Because such is the condition of our country, we have somehow gotten accustomed to these "natural disturbances" and devised our ways of coping. For instance, in the Batanes areas, where typhoons mostly coming from the Pacific pass through, people have built stone houses which can withstand the monsoon gale. In the flood-prone areas in the cities, residents have makeshift rafts and bancas which are helpful during emergency situations. Still, you would see heavy rubber tires on roofs of some houses to keep the roof from getting blown away.

But onslaught after onslaught, how much can we really take? Watching the news somehow made me feel sorry that these typhoons have strained our resources for rescue and rehabilitation too much. Yet stories showing how people survived and how neighbors rescued and comforted each other have been overwhelming and encouraging. The outpouring support from our kababayan goes to prove that in the midst of  human suffering, there is compassion. And that faced with a crisis, people would exhaust ways to provide for their family's needs.

Perhaps an outstanding example of this is Carlo, whose story, aired at a local news channel moved me to tears. Carlo's family is one of the victims of Ondoy (Ketsana). They were only able to save themselves from the raging flood and mud that buried their village in San Mateo, Rizal. What amazes me about Carlo's story is that instead of wallowing in what has happened to them, he moves into action. It's as if  he was thinking, "This happened to me, what can I do?" In a day of fetching water for his neighbors, Carlo earns P20 (That's  roughly $0.42). With this money, he can help his parents buy food to feed his younger siblings.

For as long as there are kids like him, and people who willingly share, there is indeed a promise of sunshine and better days ahead. We might have gotten accustomed to nature's inconsistencies--beaten we may be, but hopefully standing stronger.