This essay has been on my drafts since 2014. Ten years after Typhoon Haiyan, locally known as Supertyphoon Yolanda, struck. Here is our story.
Since the first time floodwaters entered our house in V and G subdivision, our uncle’s house in Manlurip, San Jose has been our go-to place for safety. Our humble abode is located at Phase 4 Extension, comically nicknamed “fish port”, and ever since that critical day in 2006, our house had oftentimes fallen victim to flood knocking uninvitedly on our doorstep. When news of typhoons broke out, my mother would hurriedly bring us to San Jose a few days before the typhoon hits us to save us from imminent flood and wading through dirty water at home. Sometimes, she stayed as an evacuee too but more often, she decides to stay at home.
For days, sometimes weeks until floodwaters at home have cleared, we would comfortably be with our uncle and his family. After all, we always had fun being with our cousins. Time and time again, this has been our routine. Typhoon after typhoon, floodwaters on the streets of our neighborhood and inside our house rose by inches. I even kept track of the height of flood inside our house. Every time we went home, a wooden wall in one of the bedrooms would have clear impressions of the flood. I would get a permanent marker, draw a line and scribble the date of when the flood came in. Typhoon after typhoon, we would go to San Jose for shelter.
When news of Supertyphoon Yolanda came, we knew at once that we were bound to evacuate to our uncle’s residence. If weaker typhoons can bring floodwaters in our house, all the more must a supertyphoon. That was the most reasonable thing to do, so we thought. Following our routine, we were already staying with our relatives two days before that fateful Friday of November 2013. Everything in life happens for a reason. My elder brother with exceptionalities, my nephew (son of our eldest) and I were at San Jose on November 8, 2013 because we had to be there.
Early morning, my mother called me up (she stayed in V and G with two of my male cousins) to wake me. The night person that I am, I should have been cranky being awoken like that but I was not. I hurriedly rolled the mat and went outside the bedroom to help out with the preparations for breakfast. We were supposed to have arroz caldo, the dish requested by my cousin the night before that her husband cook that morning. But we never got a chance because the storm surges ate them all up and many things in their house as well as lives of people in their neighborhood.
Before the waves came in, fourteen of us were all cramped up in the first floor bathroom. Our uncle said it was the safest place to stay in because glass windows were exploding and all of the roofing have been carried away by the strong winds. Suddenly, my uncle went out of the bathroom, telling us he just needed to check outside. He went back shouting “the water is rising” and yelling at us to go upstairs. Then we saw it, black, murky water. Calf-high. Like an organized line of ants, we were able to go up without panicking. When all of us were safely standing on the stairs (since there were still shrapnel flying around), the water rose quickly. Three waves. The water was rippling. We all had the same thing in mind. We should have died if uncle did not stubbornly go out of the bathroom. We were spared from the storm surge and we are very thankful for our second lives. We show our gratefulness by showing compassion and kindness to others.
mspatsperous 