stories of tears and fears; of love and kindness amid the tragedy

imagine not being able to say goodbye to your love one as he leaves this world forever and travels into the mysterious beyond.
imagine seeing your love one being taken away from your arms and swept away by the turbulent winds and waves, and drowning slowly in  the deep water of filth.
imagine watching helplessly as your love one shouts for help, begging you to save him, but there is no way you can do so without getting killed in the process, without sacrificing another love one who is clinging to you for his dear life.


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these are the stories that my younger sister, whose family survived the onslaught of super typhoon yolanda in tacloban, shared to me when we finally talked about the tragedy that befell the country early last month, exactly six weeks before christmas.
she recalled crying herself uncontrollably when her friends, all from tacloban city and other parts of leyte and samar, spoke about their horrifying experiences during that fateful day of november eight.
most of her friends and office mates lost a love one or two to yolanda, which triggered a tsunami-like storm surge that caught many residents, especially those living near the sea, unprepared.
aside from losing their love ones, they also lost most of their properties - houses, cars, appliances, clothes, books, furniture. they had nothing but the wet clothes that they were wearing.

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i was tearful when she recounted how one of her friends saw her two-year-old son being swept away by the rushing sea water that hammered homes, fell trees. how her husband had to hold her tight to prevent her from throwing herself into the flood to save her son and endanger her life as well.
it was sophie's choice -- both the book and the movie -- all over again. who would you rather save? your son,  yourself, your other child, or your husband?
tough choices and she wasn't even given a minute to think the choice over, unlike sophie.

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then there was her story about people begging for food and water days after  yolanda. of people who lost their love ones, roaming around the city like zombies: famished, sleepless, still in shock.
of a woman who passed by her house and her baby daughter. she gave whatever little food she had left to the woman - a can of sardines in tomato sauce, steamed rice and water -- and the woman tried feeding her hungry baby, who was crying loudly, with solid food as well. horrified, my sister had to use her remaining powdered milk meant for coffee, mix it with hot water and gave it to the baby, who stopped crying and even smiled at her afterwards.
the mother begged for more food, my sister said, but she didn't have much either to give. after all, she too had three young children to feed.
she cried in despair not being able to help more. she felt guilty as the mother and her baby left, presumably to scavenge for food somewhere else.
"i wish i have more to offer," she said, tearfully.
there was nothing i could say to comfort her.
indeed, survivors of any tragedy would always have such guilts.
why me? why did i survive while others died? why can't i do more to help and save others?

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but beyond those tragic tales, there were also stories about the innate kindness of people, even those who have less or nothing to give.
a day after yolanda, when there was still no communication, no means of transportation, no help from the government or anywhere else, no stores opened where the survivors could buy food and other basic needs, looting took place in the city. stores had been forced open and people took food and other necessities.
my sister recounted that she saw a group of teen-aged boys, impoverished from the tattered clothes that they wore, from their dirty bare feet, who gave away canned goods, bottled water, soaps, toothpastes, clothes and other items that they had taken away from the stores when they passed by their subdivision.
they refused to accept money in return.
yet, some people in manila were quick to judge. why did they resort to looting? did they sell those items afterwards?
try being in their shoes for a while before judging them. hear their stories first.
no, most of them did not do it to profit from the disaster. nor just to satisfy their criminal instincts.
they did it to survive. they did it so they could help others who did not have the strength to do what others had done (ok to steal) to feed their crumbling stomachs and that of their families and fellow typhoon survivors.
heroes, they were everywhere, my sister said.
unlike those politicians and self-serving celebrities who just had to broadcast what little thing that they did, what little charity that they had mustered, to the whole world.
why can't our public servants emulate these kind souls?
it's ironic indeed that most of the time, those who don't have anything else to share, to give are the ones who are always willing to help others.

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her youngest son, my three-year-old nephew, was traumatized by the catastrophe. at around five in the afternoon, when it was already dark (they were using only candles), he would go to sleep even on an empty stomach. no, the boy did not cry. nor begged for the comfort of an airconditioner and of his favourite cartoon show on teevee (things he has gotten used to) to lull him to sleep.
when i saw my nephews and niece, i hugged them. i tried to suppress my tears. that merited laughters from them. "i can't breathe uncle," shouted my sister's youngest son.
these are brave souls, i thought. if it were me on their shoes, i would be shrouded in fear, misery and depression. i don't think i have it on me to pick up the pieces of my life that fast, that easy, go out, face the world again with hope and a smile.
but that's what my sister and her young children did. ah, how i love them. how i felt thankful that they are alive and seemingly well.

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hearing these stories, seeing my sister and her family seemingly alright despite the tragedy, made me feel stronger as well, made me feel guilty about feeling so bad about my own little dramahs.
after all, what's my little problems compared to what they had gone through in recent weeks?

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her stories reminded me of something that i read sometime ago, somewhere. or probably heard. i couldn't be sure.
"always be grateful for each day that you live, for each little kindness that you share and especially those that you receive. hug and kiss those whom you love. especially those whom you hate. forgive. let go of hate. because everything in this world is ephemeral, even us. so say thank you every second of every minute of your life. most importantly, give love and forget hate."