remembrances

Generally, it's what we do as a people -- remember. Martial law declaration '72, 38 years hence. People power '86, 24 years hence. People power 2, nine years hence.

And today -- Tropical Storm Ondoy, a year later.

The paper ran a series of Page One stories commemorating the incident starting September 23rd. One story was mine -- it was about school children in Pasig coping with the tragedy one year later through art.

Another runs today in the inside pages -- it's actually a wrap of two Ondoy-focused read-along sessions, but really it's about a young friend of mine's Ondoy experience.




I'm particularly fond of Luntian, Ate Dyali's nine-year-old daughter, whom I got to know through the read-along. Ate Dyali's a storyteller with Adarna and we met in 2007 when we did a session in Marikina with Zonta. On this day last year, Luntian, her mom Ate Dyali and dad Kuya Mike were eating breakfast when water started entering their house in Montalban, Rizal. Ate Dyali remembers seeing their washing machine already floating, and the water rising so fast they had to flee to the roof of their neighbor's second floor, where they stayed for 18 hours -- in waist-deep flood.

Waist-deep flood on top of the second-floor roof? I asked, momentarily disbelieving my notes. She said, Yes, 18 hours there, too.

You realize how great the impact of certain things are when, looking back, you remember exactly where you were when it hit you. The kids I talked with in Liberato Damian earlier this month did -- eating breakfast, watching tv with a sister, playing in the rain. Their stories continued similarly: "And then the water started coming into the house."

I remember, on Sept. 26, 2009, I woke early for a read-along session in the office. At the time, we had been used to everyday rain that when I looked up at the dark skies, already angry at 8 in the morning, I just figured I'd go to work earlier. The session was at 10 but we had observers from Laguna and Ilocos who had to be entertained.

Besides, if I left later, by the time I get out our street would already be flooded -- won't be the first time, as Mascardo got flooded after ten minutes of average rain anyway, it's a fact.

But when I looked back out sometime in the middle of the session, around 11 a.m. perhaps, the rain hasn't stopped and the flood on Chino Roces had already nearly reached the front door -- elevated from street-level by at least five stair-steps. And there I was hoping the other kids -- we only had 25, we'd been expecting 60 -- would still make it?

The session ended, the rain went on. Turning on the TV after lunch, that's when it hit us. It wasn't just Makati -- it was everywhere. I'd never forget the first time I saw that clip of people on top of what seemed to me to be the remnants of their house carried by a strong current of flood water right under a bridge. Paglagpas nila sa kabila, kulang na yung tao sa ibabaw. Still gives me goosebumps when I remember.

Andrea set off for a perfume-making workshop that got canceled early that morning. We were so used to rain and floods that we didn't think twice about foregoing certain things. I called Alliance Francaise and was told there were no classes that afternoon -- Andrea was supposed to have one, too.

When I got home, it was already Sept 27th. I was the one who lived nearest and yet the flood on our street was so high even at 9 p.m. so I stayed in the office until past midnight, waiting for it to subside. Even then, when I got home, flood in front of our condo was still thigh-high.

At home, Andrea had placed containers all over the floor to address the issue of leaking spots on our ceiling -- something we'd never had before then. She was also drying her French textbooks that got wet while she was trying to go home, wading through floods in Nicanor Garcia and Jupiter and walking toward Pasong Tamo with one slipper broken until a kind pedicab driver took her on as passenger.

Needless to say, small mercies abound that day, and the weeks after that. Volunteerism was at its highest -- that still gives me goosebumps too, when I remember it. Actually, it's what I remember most about the whole thing.

Early this year, Inquirer named the Ondoy Volunteers as Filipino of the Year 2009 -- and rightly so. In a nation so often divided by political scandals and Congress hearings, it was a much-needed bright spot -- even if it had to come after a tragedy of Ondoy's magnitude.

And so today, the sun is shining. I am going home to celebrate my brother's birthday with him -- he's fourteen today and he says we should double this year's celebration as we had none last year, separated as we were in different cities by the Great Flood of 2009.

So be it.