Did you wake up to the storm last night? That was SO SCARY!” says my friend Lisa. Thus starts the office’s conversational thread and everyone huddles in to give their take on the matter. “The lightning was going inside my room!” “I could hear the wind howling and I thought the branches would break off!” “It was ages before I could go to sleep!” I smile and nod my head, but I keep quiet. I let the storm newbies vent and exclaim and gasp. I, the Filipina, am a veteran in these matters. I do not think in terms of “storms,” I think in terms of “typhoons.” Plural and many times over. I do not think of delay in terms of minutes, I think in terms of days and weeks. If we had spare time during the workday, I would tell them of the most memorable storms I’ve been through.
I would tell them of the one in the early ‘90s when I was a university student living in United Nations Avenue, Paco, Manila. This long stretch of street is NOT the place you want to be in, in the midst of heavy downpour or certainly within a storm. I ran out of school as fast as I could, but not fast enough. I walked under the LRT since the raised curbs offered protection from the brackish water on the streets. I hopped on a ‘trisikad,” but had to hop off midway because the poor brave driver couldn’t go any further (‘Sorry, miss. Baka di na ako makabalik.’) I waded through the water rising to my knees while keeping my eyes glued at the swirling water. Must watch out for open manholes. Must swerve from sharp objects. Must not wail like a baby in the middle of the street. Whew. I made it to the dormitory in time, with my white uniform plastered to my shivering body and the back of my skirt covered entirely in black. Ugh.
I would tell them of the next storm that happened a scant year later. This time, we were on the way to the airport. I was in the car with my classmate and we were happily chatting about the semester’s break. I was giving her a ride, supposedly until the airport. But the rain wouldn’t stop. The car wipers were already on overdrive, yet the windshield seemed to have a constant opaque film of water. The water had begun to rise and the traffic was slowing down. We espied one of our college faculty, and called her to come into the car. There were now four of us, huddled in the warm car, a sudden team with the common goal of “We Must Get Home.” The water kept rising until it entered the car, with its entry announced by our shrieking. Yet onwards we pressed. We kept inching forward, until the traffic came to a gridlock. We immediately decided what to do. Two could stay in the car and wait. One was near the LRT and made a run for it. I would walk along Roxas Boulevard, gripping my umbrella and rolling my luggage until I reached the Domestic Airport. After hasty good-byes and last-minute advice, (“Move away from the car splashes! Walk on the main roads.”), we went our separate ways. I walked for almost 30 minutes, in the rain and amidst the muck, to catch my flight. Made it, with a few minutes to spare. Yippee!
Those rains and storms triggered something within me and rerouted my thinking patterns. When living and studying within the flood-prone areas, I learned to think in terms of minutes. It takes 20 minutes of rain for the traffic to start stalling. It takes another 10 minutes for the water to begin to rise and reach your ankles. Another 30 minutes means floodwater and at least knee-length wading. I further calculated the time and logistics to avoid circumstances such as falling through manholes, traffic gridlock and swerving drivers.
Just as “Storms make the oak grow deeper roots” (George Herbert), this life’s storms redirect, reshape and remade me. They remake us. They change the way we think. They change the way we act and react. They change the way we plan and view the next day. They are, in a way, very, very necessary. They help us to evolve.
The storm has settled now and the office conversational thread has moved on to other areas of responsibilities and relevance. I wonder when the next weather-related hot topic would be. If it would involve torrential rain, an erupting volcano or an earthquake … ah, the stories I could tell!