Stormy weather
Stop worrying about the DAP, Professor Randy David advised the television audience two days before Glenda ripped through Southern Luzon. Focus instead on surviving the storm, which was billed to be a major one.
Randy was right. After we survive Glenda, the issue of the DAP will still be there. In fact, it will be politics as usual as the run-up to the 2016 presidential elections heats up. But first, we had to survive a monster storm.
Glenda was billed to be as destructive as Milenyo whose strong winds brought down giant billboards and power lines, and darkened the metropolis for a couple of days in 2006. But this time, there were enough dire warnings that were heeded. Those who lived in vulnerable areas were evacuated. Billboards were rolled up. Work and classes were suspended. Still there was a lot of damage to property and infrastructure – some storm-hit areas still had no power a week after, and the cost to life hit a hundred a few days ago and is still rising as the rubble is cleared.
My household was prepared for Glenda. Anticipating a brownout, we bought fresh food supplies for only a day, and had candles and matches ready. I reminded everyone to make sure all cellphones, androids and laptops were fully charged. But when Typhoon Glenda hit us in the morning, I realized I should have bought batteries for the transistor radio and a portable charger for my cellphone. It was a comfort knowing that we live on high-ground and that in 15 years we’ve lived here, we’ve never been flooded in, come hell or high water elsewhere. But I kept thinking of people who lived in flimsy homes, in harm’s way, the perennial victims of heavy rain and strong wind. How were they coping when my concrete house was shaking in the wind?
One good thing Glenda brought was, momentarily, it diverted the nation’s attention from noxious politics to physical survival. With the widespread brownout that accompanied it, we were spared at least a day’s discussion of plunder, impeachment, contempt and other grave threats thrown at the President by his political opponents.
I never thought I’d appreciate a stormy day like Wednesday last week. After the storm passed so quickly and decisively, there was no power, bringing TV and radio silence and a welcome holiday from toxic political chatter. As the brownout extended into the night, I was happy seeing everyone curled up with a book, enjoying a board game, and engaging in actual animated conversation, away from electronic gadgets now emptied of battery life.
Until Glenda, I had not witnessed a major storm in a long time. When Milenyo struck Manila, I was on my home from Cambodia and got stuck in Bangkok when all flights to Manila were cancelled. When the rains of Ondoy deluged Manila, I was in Sydney, my flight home delayed for two days. In the comfort of my daughter’s home, I watched, horrified, videos on YouTube of cars and people being swallowed by raging floodwaters.
Last Monday, as we braced for Glenda, the kids teased me, “You are finally going to experience a major storm at home.”
To be honest, I was relieved to be out of the country when those major disasters happened. I have never been calm in the face of calamity, natural or man-made. I panic easily, and tend to make wrong decisions.
A few years ago, I landed in Legaspi for an overnight assignment on a perfectly beautiful day. But when I tried to catch the government personnel I was scheduled to meet with, many of them were busy preparing for a storm that, they said, was expected to hit the city within 24 to 48 hours. Albay is, of course known for its disaster preparedness. Governor Joey Salceda has zero tolerance for even a single storm casualty.
To a man, they asked when I was planning to go back to Manila, whether I was flying or taking the bus. They filled me with stories of a closed airport and cancelled flights, and, if I was taking the bus, the certainty of roads closed due to landslides and floods along the way. They obviously wanted me out of there. That same afternoon, I was on a flight back to Manila. The storm never came, and there went my story.
Over 40 years ago, a monster storm was pummeling the city and I was a wreck, in near-hysterics, expecting the roof of our apartment to be blown away. So when the eye of the storm was over us and an eerie calm descended on the city, my husband, more in exasperation than gallantry, drove to a nearby drug store to get me some Valium. In those days, it was still possible to get downers over the counter. He was back just before the winds began to rise again.
I remember sitting out the rest of the storm in a daze, with not a worry in the world, calmly watching part of our neighbor’s roof being torn away and becoming a deadly projectile.
Yoling in 1972 kept much of Central Luzon under water for months. I cleared out my closet to share my used clothes with the typhoon victims and inadvertently threw into the pile of donated stuff, two brand new mini-skirts I still had not worn. When I realized it too late, I comforted myself with the shallow thought that anyway, minis would be the right attire for walking in knee-deep floodwaters.
In this season of storms, more tempests are at the wings, awaiting their turn on center stage. May we be ever prepared to weather them smartly and safely. As for the political storms, we can expect them to continue way into the May 2016 elections. May we be discerning enough to survive the lethal lies and spins of toxic politics and help land our country safely and securely on the right path of democracy, peace and prosperity.
