Loosely paraphrasing Lincoln, “All the typhoons may spare us some of the time; some of the typhoons may spare us all the time; but all of the typhoons may not spare us all the time.”
And so it happened that within a space of less than two months, two typhoons hit mainland Bicol, particularly the provinces of Albay, Sorsogon and Camarines Sur. First, Reming with winds of more than 200kph struck in the last days of November, leaving behind thousands either dead or injured in Albay due to mudslides from Mayon which buried homes with families inside, buildings and other infrastructures.
The damage suffered by Sorsogon and Camarines Sur were not as gruesome, but in all of Bicol, damage to property and crops was staggering. Then, less than two weeks later, another super typhoon Seniang, with slightly less wind force, hit again, even if the center was the Visayas. Nevertheless, this latter weaker disturbance brought winds and rains that exacerbated the damage wrought
by the first. Absence of power to commercial establishments and homes was extended due to destruction of power lines.
And all is recent history. At press time, the dead have been blessed and buried; many of the living have returned to their homes, but still more are in evacuation centers. Business has resumed, the malls again echo with the hustle and bustle of shoppers and pleasure seekers; and homes are again brightened by electricity, not by flickering candles or smoky petroleum gas, although those far from the main power lines still have to spend dark nights a little longer.
During the past months, or year, when the same misfortune befell our brothers in Aurora and Leyte, I may have felt relieved and thankful that it was not us. Many typhoons, in fact, passed near us but did not harm us. The rains they brought with them even did us good—they watered our crops and assured our water supply. I felt that we were more blessed, indeed.
But, I realize now that I was wrong to feel that way. I should have commiserated with our fellow countrymen who had suffered. I should have done something to ease their feeling of pain and loss. I should, at least, have prayed for them — for I had no material wealth to share with them in their need.
For the time did come when I, too, was like them: a victim of a calamitous event. And I, too, needed consolation — a prayer.
Looking back, while the storm raged in the night, I had felt hopeless and distraught as the wind howled outside and shook the roof of my kitchen trying to loosen the GI sheets, which it finally did. I had peeped at the street and had felt alarmed when I saw floodwater rise, threatening to come into my yard. Then the winds weakened, just then, leaving the roof intact, and the rain had stopped before the flood entered the living room. I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.
And now it is Christmas! My heart should beat with renewed energy and hope. My spirit must be alive with grateful appreciation of Divine Providence. I must now be content and at peace. And I should be prepared and eager to meet the New Year as wiser and better me.
However, the realization that others have suffered and continue to do so tugs at my consciousness and dampens the joy that I feel. I must, therefore, tone down my exultation in sympathy with heir pain of loss and deprivation.
I must go down on my knees and pray to Jesus to console them and ease their suffering. Then Christmas this year will truly be meaningful.
