drowning memoirs, angelica vistal [reading women txt] 📗

Drowning Memoirs

A young lady was still sleepy when she turned on the television. Waking up in the cold, rainy morning of September 26 is such a really difficult thing to do, especially that day – Saturday. No classes. There aren’t a lot of tasks to do during weekends – a factor why she was the first to get up in bed that day. Suddenly, as she searched every channel in vain hope that she would get entertained; she paused in seeing the news flash. A clip of video showed flood reaching roofs of houses – roofs that served as the only safe place for people to not drown in the overthrowing seas of rainwater. People are screaming for help, in a way that would break anybody’s heart. Those screams were paired with the picture of parents using their arms as the only security, so as to not let their little ones join those swimming for their lives. Darkness reached everywhere, even the hearts and faces of the flood victims who can do nothing but cry and clutch on anything for support. Clearly, the storm “Ondoy” was not the only thing that drowned the Filipinos, but also the tears of melancholy and exhaustion that flooded every heart.
There, the lady found out that instead of getting cheered up, she became depressed by the sight of her dying countrymen. She suddenly felt a warm droplet fall on her cheeks. At first, she thought water was leaking from their roof, until she realized it was a teardrop from her eyes.
I am that lady. Yes – the lady that despite her willingness to rescue could do nothing but watch her people die and beg for help; the lady that despite her physical wellness could just sit and wait as if she is just a weak, limp girl; the lady who is always thankful when a storm comes, and treats it like a savior from everyday obligations and duties in school. Yet now, this lady swears and scorns at it, as if these can help in stopping her now-treated mass-murderer and enemy.
True – I loved the rain not only for it saves me from a day full of stress from academic works and tasks, but also because I love the cold droplets it brings. As a little girl, I used to watch the rain falling on my window pane. This was one of my first sources of happiness. I love it when it rains, for it is the only time my mother allows me to wear my favorite jacket, and father cooks a hot soup for us. Every time it rains, I feel the love of my family – how my parents embrace each other, how my sisters tell me scary stories and kiss me every time I get really scared, how my father plays sweet songs on his guitar to lure us to sleep, how my mother watches over us all night to make sure no mosquitoes would bite us, how all of us prays together and thank God for His protection, and how we sleep soundly together in a small bed, no matter how stiff it may be. With those, I really get happy. The cold weather suddenly becomes filled with warmth and care. I considered rainy days the loveliest days of my life.
It was strangely nice for me to realize that the rain mirrors my deepest emotions. When I am sad, the sky turns gloomy, and let out a quiet drizzle. When I am extremely happy, the sky gives a cheerfully loud shower that I really adore. It seems that the rain feels exactly the same way as I do, for when I am truly angry or disappointed, the news report will be the one which would inform everybody about it by reporting on a storm that will enter the country’s area of responsibility. (To tell the truth, minutes before the storm “Ondoy” caused damage to the Philippines, I was dreadfully angry with a classmate who stole my ideas in a report. I don’t get accounted for the damages, do I?)
I treated the rain my savior and the storms my best friend. I could have still thought the same, until I became witness on the cruelty of the destruction it brought to my people. All those memories of love and warmth, the sweet melodies, the picture of rain that I once loved – they all vanished. Then, it came to me that my friend became a traitor – a traitor to my Filipino family who are armed with nothing. It took away more than 200 innocent lives, flooded more than one billion pesos of properties as if it was a sort of worthless garbage, and orphaned more than 80, 000 families of their loved ones and houses.
How can it be a friend?
A friend never leaves in times of trouble, helps in moments of crisis and need, serves as a shield from a storm, acts as a sanctuary and does no harm to a friend. How can I consider the rain as my friend when all it brought to us are contrary to these facts? How, when all it caused to us are sufferings?
How can it be a friend?
More than half a million of Filipino people are affected. The national government, together with the international, private, and non-government organizations, and televisions and radio stations, have united their forces to help those in need. Yet, what they have formed will never be enough for a compelling force to regain what are lost – and those are the lives of many countrymen. All of the damaged properties may be replaced, but what’s most important – the lost sacrifices and hopes of every victim, can never be taken back. What’s lost is lost. That is the grievous reality.
A friend?
Once, this lady loved the rain with all of her heart. Its raindrops brought her warm and sweet memories that still stay in her heart. But because of the tragedy that caused destruction in her homeland, all of these memories are now drowning – drowning in tears of pure pity for her countrymen.
Now, how can the rain be a friend?

Publication Date: 09-30-2009

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