It is only when you come face to face with death that you start to fight for your life. Some choose to let go. Others fight until the very end. And there are those who were called to get past the storm and continue with life.
But how much should you pay for the price of survival?
I survived Yolanda. I saw its gales wreck my house and leave it in shambles. I witnessed how it blew the walls of my home down, sent our roofs flying across the sky, and our refrigerator tumble upside down. Everything is still clear to me; whenever I look back I imagine being in the middle of a disaster flick, only that it really happened.
Everything happened so fast. While holding a Monobloc chair on top of our heads, I looked at my partner’s watch and saw that it was only seven in the morning when the storm whipped our house apart. We had premium seats in a shallow puddle that formed right in front of our house, leaning against a wall to keep ourselves protected from whatever debris that would come our way.
It took the angry winds less than 30 minutes to make our house go down into pieces of clutter. Then, quiet. But before we could sigh a breath of relief and say a prayer of gratitude for fate sparing our lives, the waters started to rise. A flashflood was forming, and we had to act fast. My partner and I climbed up the wall to our neighbor’s place, only to realize that the water was already chest high. We tried to swim. We held on to the cable lines that seemed to have sturdy knots and worked our way into our neighbor’s rather sturdier house.
We were able to get inside, and there we learned that they were upstairs, hiding from the winds as well. The gales already ripped off their roof and ceiling, and there were only a few spots that could shelter them from the storm. That’s where we stayed, until the disaster finally subsided, and only a series of chilly breeze could be felt.
I am grateful to have survived. But to be happy is another story. How could you be happy when after the rain you get to see bodies of lifeless, nameless people hanging by your gates after being washed out by the flood? How could you be happy to see your house, no longer the same as it stood? How could you be happy when you know you have nothing else left but your own helpless self?
Yes, I survived. But at the same time I had to pay the price by being witness to the monstrosity the typhoon has left behind.
Perhaps the most horrifying effect of the typhoon was that it drove people crazy. Many became desperate and greedy, according to my friend. There came the looting of almost every establishment in Tacloban, as well as in other towns in Leyte and Samar. People nearly killed each other just to get the lion’s share of rations, others even went after relief trucks just to feed their own broods.
A lot of families were left homeless and had no choice but to sleep on the streets, next to the recovered bodies of those who died. Many of the dead were already rotting and calcifying, fixed in positions of wailing and pleading. Some were children, some were pregnant women. The stench filled the streets, and it stuck on clothes, hearts, and minds. The stench still haunts me at night, even until now.
It has become harder for me to sleep at night since the typhoon. Having no home is the least of my concerns; there were a lot of reasons to stay up. It still rains intermittently during the night, so I had to wake up and stay away from the waters that flow into the place that I sleep in. There were also rumors of fugitives who have escaped their prison cells, and of organized crime syndicates raiding homes for food and other kinds of loot, and they were ready to kill anyone and everyone who stood on their way.
In essence, life became hopeless. It’s no wonder many families, individuals, and orphans, chose to leave, even if the future in a new land is also uncertain. In my case, I had to make myself believe that there is hope, just so that I can continue living with a sane mind.
I left my home just a few days ago, but not to abandon the place I chose to love. Rather, I left to find hope, for my family, and for myself. I chose to live in Leyte, in Tacloban, where I was born, in Palo where I established my own life. It has never been easy for me to live far from these places, as these are the sites where I found myself complete. But now I have to make the biggest sacrifice to going away, just so I could find help in rebuilding our damaged lives.
Just this morning I found out that my aunt, whom I was estranged with, is alive and doing well. She braved through the storm, and in her own little way she is fighting to continue with life. I guess that’s the best lesson I learned from what Yolanda has brought upon us: no matter what happens, we will continue living.
I don’t really know how to start the healing process, but I believe that we, the survivors of the typhoon, will. After all, we made it through the storm, so why not make the most out of what we have, and what we are now.
The author, 27 years old, is a staff writer at 8 Magazine, a travel and lifestyle magazine in Eastern Visayas.
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