September 26, 2009, it was the early morning until nearly the end of the day when the rain relentlessly threw its destructive force on the City of Manila. Waves and waves of monsoon rains, along with the devil-storm Ondoy, continuously pounded the city with no mercy. Early on, Taiwan also experienced such a calamity that had claimed the lives of many people. In the Philippines, where the words bahala na (which came from the words bathala na), meaning “Let God decide” is often said, tragedies are usually shone with little luminance.
When the rain came pouring down hard, people let it be. What can you do? Bahala na! This is the Filipino – a carefree race – one that did not really give a heck to what tomorrow might bring. Neither an earthquake, nor a landslide may bring this people down to the pits of intense paranoia. Any nation but not the Filipino! Years of misfortunes under every circumstance from the Spaniards, to the Americans and even to the eruption of Pinatubo could not wipe the smile off His face. During the endless cry of the earth over the heart of Luzon, just when traffic started to jam almost every road that was only passable the day before, did the nation start to realize the dangers and hassles of what was already right there over the sky. The wind was subtle, but the rain had more than enough water to submerge the easily flooded streets, roads, and highways of the city. At around noon, the usual bad news came abruptly, reporting about the terrors of the slow-paced storm that did not seem to show any signs of fainting. Cars, trucks, busses and jeeps, were all immobilized by the dashing rainfall that quickly flooded the routes mostly crossed, like Katipunan and Edsa. Those motorists who were behind and slightly clueless about the situation could only wish for the best: any signs of mobility. But the long wait inside the car was already an indication of something they were all familiar with. Cars stop, either because of accidents or floods. An entirely congested area, together with non-stop rain could only mean the latter.
By early afternoon, people from Marikina, Cainta and other areas like Fairview, started calling for rescue. It was the start of a grim end (of the day) for many, and a mesmerizing sight for those lucky some only watching TV. It is always the poor who takes the big punch, and this dreadful day was no exception. Luzon was slowly drenching, bringing along many homes, livelihoods and even some lives. The poor, who obviously had no choice but build their homes jam-packed in one unlucky rich man’s land, received the most damage. Many would lose almost everything they had worked for in years. Flood waters, joined by the over-flowing creeks and rivers, rose to up to more than a two-story house in some areas. The giver of life ends it as well; and since they say people die bringing nothing with them, the water claims everything. For the majority of survivors, with already so little, they had lost even those superficial things that made them happy. They are often labeled as, “Mga mabababaw” or those who find happiness in small things. And yet, they still became the numero uno victims by a storm that took their little joys.
By around 9pm that day, the rainfall started losing its strength, and some relief could be felt. But it was also around that time, when all the damage inflicted manifested in the news. Rescue operations were slow, as almost always expected from a government that talked more than it acted. Some who called for help even before their parked cars got totally submerged like submarines in the garage, never even had a rescue team coming their way. It was only when the muddy and polluted waters cleared away did the rescues become possible. Calls were made everywhere, and schools like the Ateneo de Manila joined the rescue operations. Internet Medias like the Facebook was extensively used to contact those believed to have been affected by the storm. The school itself became a haven for the less fortunate men, women and children whose homes were drowned like sinking ships; only of course water rising in this case and not homes sinking. To this very moment these words are being type-written, rescue operations by family and friends of those sank by the devil-storm are being carried on without the help of the sluggish government. The poor would hopefully retain their hope in view of humanitarian efforts showing them love and support, since they are very much included in this endeavor.
All that is there to see now is hope, stemming from that little luminance mentioned earlier. In the face of a calamity, the Filipino does not say bahala na anymore. He now gives a helping hand, free of stain and grease unlike His proud and useless administrator. The Filipino is learning to know when to say bahala na and when to act without his government’s often “all-talk” support. A midst this tragedy, He has learned to help His neighbor; a stranger – yet truly a friend, a brother, a sister, a mother and a father. He has succeeded and still is succeeding in being one with God through His neighbors. September 26, 2009 should remain a memento of the great flood that struck Manila, which became both a state of calamity and a state of unity – A True Revolution. The future is finally brighter in darkness.