I could imagine how our house looked like and where my things were placed, our living room decorated with ornamental green plants, every corner occupying a special place in my heart.
My reminiscing came to an end when I saw a trace of smoke and ashes swirling over the wall that remained standing. Flames flashed through my mind, reminding me how the fire had destroyed our house. What happened, every moment of it, came rushing through my mind.
April 26, 2010, Monday. We were a perfect picture of a happy family gathered at our dining table. Laughter filled our home as we shared plans and dreams. My father said he wanted to buy a new sofa for our sala, but marvelled that our 15-year-old refrigerator was still functioning well. I suggested that we build an extension. My mother offered her ideas about renovating the house, saying she wanted to do the interior design and give it her personal touch.
Those were our plans for the near future.
By 11 o’clock that night, we were already in our rooms. And while we were sleeping, the fire struck, turning our dreams and plans into ashes.
My mother recalls faintly hearing someone calling her name and waking up. When she opened the door, she was horrified to see a blazing fire. Her shouts roused my father from sleep.
My father immediately rushed to our room and, by God’s grace, I woke up fast and so did my sister.
My mind was telling me not to panic, but my heart was racing like crazy. I saw my father holding a water hose but no water was coming out of it.
My mother was shouting for help. I went back to help my father stop the fire from spreading. The fire was already in our living room and blocking our way. He pushed me out of the room and I saw resignation written all over his face. I knew it was all over.
I ran around barefoot, not knowing where to go and whom to ask for help. Our house was slowly being consumed by fire, which was now licking at our neighbors’ door.
“God, show me now Your power!” I demanded. I couldn’t bear to see anything more. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them I might see again my purple painted room, with a painting of two angels given by a friend decorating the wall. And I still wanted to see our dreams come true.
But as I slowly opened my eyes, I witnessed the same scene. The fire was mercilessly eating the 20 years of sacrifice my parents put in to have our house built. I couldn’t believe it, but it was really happening. Our home was gone in 30 minutes.
Our stay-out maid came rushing to us. I embraced her and said, “You no longer have a house to clean, no more clothes to wash.” I laughed at my own morbid joke and then burst into tears. Those who saw me must have thought I had lost my sanity.
I was still crying hard when I saw my mother staring at nowhere. She was not crying. I could not see a tear running down her cheeks. I embraced her, and kept asking why God was allowing this to happen to us.
Then I heard my mother utter her first words: “Where is your faith?”
It was as if she was telling me: Shame on you, a leader of the Youth for Christ community and a church worker who gives talks to inspire people. Now that tragedy has struck, your faith has also turned into ashes.
I knew it was a trial. But why would God still test me? He already knew my capabilities.
But trials are needed to test our faith. That was one lesson I learned from the tragedy.
It was already 2 in the morning when the fire was put out finally. From the window of my lola’s room, I could still see smoke coming from our burned house. As memories came rushing in, I closed the window and lay down on the bed. I could not close my eyes. I was afraid that if I did, I won’t see total darkness but the fury of the fire that razed our home.
I was torn by self-pity and blamed myself for not being able to do something to stop the fire. I felt so useless, foolish and stupid. At least I should have let my mind work and helped put out the blaze. But I panicked.
Later I realized that the whole incident had a purpose. It was not a mistake. God let it happen for a reason. And I was certain it was for a good reason. He loves us, and I hang on to that belief.
Today, I woke up early and looked outside the window. The wall is still there, standing still. I know it won’t be of any use. And it hurts to know that. All my childhood memories were there in that house. The sufferings I have been through and the pain I felt were witnessed by that house, together with my happiness and laughter. It was the place that could say who I am, with the trophies, the plaques, the medals and the pictures on display.
Now they are all gone. And I will be a stranger to some people who haven’t been to our house. I no longer have things to show to my own children when the time comes. I cannot tell them, “Look, your mom was like this and that.”
But I know that someday, a new house will rise on the same place. I will fill it with things that show how faithful I have been, through bad times and good. The new house will be a symbol of love, patience, hard work and sacrifice. It will be a product of the hope and faith that guide me throughout my life. My children and grandchildren may not know very well who I was until I was 20, but they will know who I am and that should make them even prouder of me.
I will pursue the dreams our family had that night at dinner. But what is going to happen will no longer be an extension or renovation of our house but a completely new start.
Vanessa Jane J. Go, 19, is a 4th year BS Accountancy student at Saint Paul University-Surigao.