Keep calm and keri lang
The first time we learned that the city had become a clogged water basin, it took us by surprise. Ondoy crept in, disguised as just another seasonal rainfall. We had gone to bed peacefully, only to wake the morning after to chest-high floods. Highways submerged under water, cars aimlessly floating in the streets, houses washed away by currents, along with the household belongings that once perched inside them. We were stranded—in schools, at work, in transit, seeking shelter in other people’s homes or shopping malls. Canals overflowed, and those who resided within the close perimeter experienced the worst. It became clear which parts of the region sat on dangerous grounds: the valleys of Marikina near the river. People camped out on the rooftops of their homes, waiting for any kind of relief. Meanwhile, a nation arose. Schools became makeshift evacuation centers and areas of relief operations. The number of volunteers staggered to pull together. The amount of support that followed the disaster was just as overwhelming as the flash flood that instigated it. Ondoy took close to 500 lives with it, and left approximately 80 percent of Manila underwater. This was in 2009.
Four years later today, we face the same torrential rainfalls. Maring started pouring heavily on Sunday, and hovered for three long days, sometimes thunderous and angry. But this time, we were prepared. Officials kept watch for long nights, and citizens became attentive to alert levels. We adapted to the situation. We learned to use social media as a means of communication, with each city giving updates of flooded areas every so often. Other concerned citizens would be on guard, ready to gather donations for relief operations. We also learned what kinds of things to donate in situations like this one: canned goods that could be easily opened, food that wouldn’t need to be cooked (boiled saba bananas recommended), fresh water and dry clothes. Even if the rainfall of Maring is reported to have surpassed Ondoy’s, the casualties are much less.
People often speak about the Filipinos’ resilience. Sometimes this country brings us to dark places; we question if we’ve become devoid of some human values. With corruption as the backbone of our system, we have been driven into the bottom of the pit of greed and selfishness. Sometimes we wonder if we’ve become numb to the grimy system, finding ourselves left with no choice but to be concerned only about our own survival.
But in moments like these, despite the horror, there is much to admire about our country. In the worst of times, we find the compassion of one neighbor to another, the generosity of a stranger to one in need, the selflessness and the sense of urgency to help. We forget about the foul play, we forget about ourselves, and we know that, to survive, it cannot be done alone. We have learned to always get back on our feet, and we have learned to do this as a nation. To stand up again, means to do it hand-in-hand; to rebuild our broken selves into a whole means to connect the broken links of a chain. And this is something that we have done historically as well, in numerous other political and social situations. Something we just learn to do when we find ourselves pinned to the wall in a dark corner, left to fend and fighting to survive. And we always do. Diskarte, basic instinct.
They speak of our resilience, because we have a resilience that surpasses any other. It is something we, a small cluster of islands in the Pacific, has known at its core for plenty of years. This sense of nationalism, this sense of self, this nation, we people, this courage that they often speak of, this is real. It has always been real, and it is very much alive today. What keeps us bouncing back is that we have always clung onto hope. It is hope that reminds us that we can keep going further, that allows us to believe that there is no reason for us to go down today. It is the hope that is always alive in our people, the reason that we are, where we are today. This hope, it cannot be bought, or given, or traded. It exists inside us. It is a light that never goes out.
