But your faith stays with you, and so does the hope that death is not the last chapter of your story with your children.
Do not stay down, Visayas.
Your churches and houses were flattened. Your lovely coasts were sullied. Your hills slid and your plains cradle corpses and proofs of brokenness.
But you can build once more, and even as you seethe with rage and stream with tears, you can draw lessons from the source of your anger and grief, the better to fortify yourself the next time nature wreaks havoc in these unsteady isles.
Do not stay down, Visayas.
You may resort to desperate measures, driven by hunger pangs and impatience. You may walk as though you have come to the end of everything.
But you belong to a long-suffering people, and you know how to listen in the end to the better angels of your nature, and you trust that help is on the way from your compatriots—your brothers and sisters.
Hold on. Help is on the way.
They—we—will see you through, in northern Cebu, in Samar, in Leyte, in Bohol, in Capiz to better days.
We come now by the thousands, and the hundreds of thousands—in schools and museums, in parishes, in government centers, in homes; peer groups, families, parishes, work mates, play mates: We hold you in our hearts.
We whisper a prayer, we send positive thoughts, we share your sorrow and your hope, even as we prepare to supply for your physical needs, in our small ways, writ large as we muster our forces together.
Do not stay down, Visayas.
We who survived, we who had it better after earth shook and the storm went on a rampage, we will not consider ourselves better off while you are down on your knees. We will not rejoice until you are whole again, or at least until you are strong enough to bear the sight of your scars.
We will not leave you behind.
Rise. Let us march forward.