Hanging on
As the power went out and the rain kept pouring, I decided to call it a day. In my blissful sleep, I never thought that our city’s people were suffering, with wives becoming widows in an instant, children turning into orphans and homes shattered into pieces.
I woke up that Saturday sensing nothing wrong. But when I looked at the 16 text messages on my cell phone, I knew this Christmas would not be a happy one for Iliganons.
“Sendong” will definitely go in the city’s history books. I have never seen so much devastation in all the 19 years that I have lived in the city. Iligan was known as the city of waterfalls, not a city with overflowing rivers. Now some people are saying we Iliganons will overcome this trial, while others admonish us to find a better place.
I live on a slightly elevated area in Iligan. As Sendong struck, the wind and the rain tried to penetrate my window without doing much damage. So I am physically fine, but I mourn with our people.
On a brighter note, the tragedy has brought out the bayanihan spirit. Never have I seen the city’s people so strongly united. Everyone was giving. People you used to see in beerhouses are packing relief goods. Donations from neighboring cities and towns keep flowing. Iliganons and Kagay-anons are playing Santa Claus to the victims of the calamity.
When I went to the evacuation center to sign up as a volunteer, there were already 30 of us. We helped distribute rations and used clothes. We had to service about 500 families, about 2,500 individuals. The following day, their number doubled.
The stories some of the victims told were horrifying. One said that he saw people trying to hang on to ropes then losing their grip, and yelling for help until their voices could be heard no more.
A friend asked a young boy where his parents were, and the boy said they were just around. But a woman later whispered to my friend that the boy’s parents had perished in the flood.
I lost a teacher, one of the people who shaped me into what I am today. Mary Buot died together with her husband Elmer. They were trapped inside their house and they died in each other’s arms.
In Cagayan de Oro and Iligan alone, Sendong took more than 1,000 lives. Hundreds of others are still missing. How will we ever recover from this? The extent of destruction was something no one could have expected. Hour after hour military trucks drive by carrying the remains of those who were buried alive.
In the social media you will barely recognize an Iliganon. Almost all of us are using the same profile picture and it says, “One for Iligan.” Statuses deal mostly with what is going on in evacuation centers and what the victims need or calls for more volunteers. Of course, there are some who cannot help but brag about how much they have given to the victims. Really, people are different.
Is there hope for our people? Will we regain the happiness we had? Will Christmas be worth celebrating? But like the good books says, there is a time for everything: a time to tear down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. Iliganons, we shall overcome.
Marl Andrew B. Valdez, 19, is a BS Biology student at Mindanao State University-Iligan Institute of Technology.
No more empty socks
By Justine Alyssa A. Siscar
When WE were younger, my siblings and I wrote Christmas wishes addressed to good, old Santa Claus. We would put them inside oversized red socks, and my mom would place the socks somewhere in our house. I remember starting my letter every year thus: “Dear Santa, I don’t know if I have been good enough, but please do grant my wishes. These are the things I want this year…” Then came a long list of the things I wanted: clothes, books, toys, shoes, accessories and a lot more.
On Christmas Eve, our family and our relatives would gather in our grandparents’ house to celebrate together. Then we would exchange gifts, and I was always so surprised that I actually got the things I put on my wish list.
For many years, I believed that because Santa couldn’t possibly deliver every single gift to all the children, he must have asked the help of our parents, aunts and uncles so that each of us would get the gifts we wanted. It wasn’t until I was a bit older that I realized that it couldn’t possibly be true. Nevertheless, I continued to write to him wishes so that I would get what I wanted for Christmas.
This year, my sock is still in our house, but it does not have my list of wishes. It doesn’t even have my name on it anymore. I have come to realize that I would be fine if I don’t receive any material things this year. I have been telling my mom that I can’t think of any gift I want for Christmas. Of course, I would still gladly accept anything that would be given to me by anybody, but there is nothing I really want in particular.
I did not lose the Christmas spirit. It’s just that I don’t mind anymore if that sock is empty. I knew it was already full even before it was hung this year—not with material things, but with the tons of lessons and values I have learned this year.
Just passing through the halls of the Philippine General Hospital to get to Padre Faura from Pedro Gil (or the other way around) and seeing the people waiting there in their wheelchairs or stretchers and their equally exhausted companions make me realize how lucky I really am. After the young children I taught during our NSTP back in January and the really inspiring Thai pharmacy professor whose lecture I attended just a few weeks ago, after the fun and awesome things and the not-so-fun and not-so-awesome ones that have happened to me, and after the nice people I have met and chatted with in buses as well as my family and friends who never fail to amaze me, it would be ridiculous if I ask for anything else. It would be such a pity if I ranted about the smallest things and failed to see how extremely and incredibly blessed my life is.
I think I have finally figured out what Christmas is to me. It’s not about the delicious feast we eat or the piles of gifts that we receive, it’s about being thankful for all the things that we are fortunate to have and sharing them with others so that nobody’s sock is empty not only during this season but also every single day of the year.
Justine Alyssa A. Siscar, 17, is a 2nd year BS Pharmacy student at the University of the Philippines Manila.
