Survivor
He is a bit distracted of late, going about his work differently. Not differently as if he is a changed man. There is nothing about him which has changed. And yet, he knows he feels different. He is in a sort of daze. He knows he has to get over it somehow. He is bothered how things go on with him as if nothing much happened; while elsewhere, so much devastation and loss.
His children have taken to sleeping in the sala in front of the television set as if to mimic the condition of victims in the plazas of places like Loon and Maribojoc, as if to make of the television set a small window into these sad events. They were brought practically to tears when they saw the Loboc children’s choir sing “Prayer” in front of the fallen remains of the Loboc church.
The next day they rushed to buy a sack of rice at Taboan, riding from there to the Fuente where they dropped this at a drop-center. This made them feel a bit better but only just so. The papa did not think to bring them to the Pasil fish market just to show them how lucky they were. That would only needlessly stress the obvious. It would have been ludicrous. They felt no need to go beyond television to see the actuality of it.
He suspects his children feel the same way he does. The past week since has been a vacation for them. But they have not asked to go to the beach as they would normally have done in extended vacations like this. They have not been studying much either even if they have periodical tests come Monday when they return to school. Grades are the last thing they worry about now. They feel very lucky. But, he guessed, also guilty that way for all the pain and suffering elsewhere. They wonder if they deserve this sort of luck. They are survivors.
They have gone through an ironic twist in the course of their lives. A house is shelter. It protects. It shields from the forces, the rain, the wind, the sun’s heat. It keeps out those things that threaten. The buildings where they study or work is not much different. Likewise, a church. And yet, when these start to shake as if making ready to fall, it becomes a fatal threat, something to run away from. And then they know they have been foolishly complacent. What protects also kills and maims. That is an idea that takes some time to absorb. It seeps in slowly.
Cleaning up after its wake helps but not quite as much as getting used to the aftershocks. When the first waves of it came you ran outside from the house. After days of it you saw no need. You looked up from what you were doing and reassured yourself: It is not as bad as the last time.
They have been mopping and sweeping the floor, a fallen piece of sculpture becomes only shards of clay. The concrete wall shed more than its usual patina of dust. And then there was the normal collection of refuse and dog-pooh which had to be taken out. A few flower pots needed righting up. And then the mama decides to change entirely the interior plan for the living room. Which necessitated moving every bit of furniture and not a small bit of rewiring here and there. For once, the papa did not resist and complain.
All these only reflect from the window which is their television set. All that damage will have to be cleaned up, dead bodies dug from the ground and prayed for, and then mournfully reburied, houses to be rebuilt, roads re-paved, churches restored, somehow.
But already there are signs of the indomitability of the human spirit. A sign flies in big bold red letters set in front of a popular hardware store right at the foot of the overpass at N. Bacalso St., the South expressway. The hardware store building is all but demolished, one side flattened woefully to the ground. The debris tell of how how bravely this huge mass of concrete fought twisting forces before finally surrendering to gravity. The sign says: BUDGET BUILDERS INC. BUSINESS AS USUAL. THIS WAY. And then the arrow points us to the warehouse, which like most of us, surprisingly escaped from all these unscathed.
