The Filipino rises

MANILA, Philippines - I wasn’t a fan of our so-called “resilience.” I wished people would realize that it’s a self-claimed trait we bring up every time a strong typhoon rolls into the country. And I don’t look forward to hearing about it again the next time we’re struck which, thanks to our geographic luck, we can pretty much count on.

As has been harped on so often, I’d like to see instead an improvement in infrastructure and preparedness. Granted that Yolanda was something else, surpassing even international expectations. But that doesn’t give a free pass to all the times heavy rains paralyze the metro. There is a lot of work to be done — a gap that “resilience” won’t cut.

Another problem I had with bringing up our “waterproof” spirit was that I felt it didn’t give us enough space to mourn our dead and our losses. If it had been my house that was leveled, my family that was washed away, I would hate for anyone to excitedly bring out the “You will emerge” pom-poms. I would like to be with my pain and for people to know and acknowledge that.

But recently I realized that I have very little right to speak on this matter and to invalidate the virtues that many of our people are said to have. I’ve never lost as much as they have. And probability-wise, I don’t stand to do so. I live in a city that can and has been considered our capital, where it has never even occurred to me to consider how far-flung and more vulnerable other people’s situations are. I live in a sturdy house, on a piece of land that the floodwaters, at least as of this writing (with global warming you don’t want to get too cocky), have never reached. Many of the times that people were paddling furiously to survive, I was wishing I had stocked up on hot chocolate.

Improved conditions

This doesn’t change anything with regard to all that needs to be done to ensure our people’s safety. At the end of the day, those who have been speaking against the compensatory focus on our resilience, including myself, are only pushing for the conditions to improve for everybody. But having a valid point doesn’t mean you’re entitled to your snark — especially if you had the luxury to be intellectualizing the situation, while others were clinging to posts for dear life and holding pillows over their heads to shield themselves from flying debris. Basically what I’m trying to say is that I had no right to spit on strength that I myself have never had to muster — strength that, come to think of it, I can’t even imagine what it looks or feels like. I guess growing up here and hearing the things people say has the effect of making you think you already know everything about your country and your people. You don’t even stop to think that maybe you don’t.

I had the opportunity of flying to Bohol barely a month after the earthquake hit. The tickets and lodging were booked months in advance, during light and unsuspecting times. And now what was once scheduled to be a stress-free vacation had turned into a journey into a supposedly shattered island that had its entire power supply cut off, and was still experiencing after-shocks.

Welcoming and cheerful

I roll my eyes whenever foreigners fawn over how wonderfully welcoming and cheerful our people are, but that’s exactly what I found. Expecting disorder and broken spirits, I walked into a place that had found its rhythm again and was beating on alongside its still visible scars. Airport crew gladly pushed bags along the powerless baggage carousel. Side stores that didn’t have cold beer easily let this customer go, and gamely pointed me to the one convenience store that had a generator for its refrigerators. There really wasn’t anything extraordinary to witness. They were people being their usual selves and doing their usual things, being of service as best they could. There were no touchy-feely moments, but I could feel my heart steadily growing warmer the longer I stayed. Overall I guess I was just surprised to find myself well taken care of by an island that was just beginning to pick itself up. I even seriously thought of buying one of those ratty “I <3 Bohol” friendship bracelets, even though I’ve never been fond of useless souvenirs.

And hearing of the restoration of water supply in Tacloban, of the beating of hammers, and of local government employees reporting for work brought similar feelings to my jaded, desensitized heart. We hear of the Filipino resilience all the freaking time, yet we don’t even realize how beautiful it is to be the kind of people you can always count on to get up and thrive. That no matter how devastating the pictures are, wastelands won’t remain wastelands. And I don’t like to romanticize about how little we have, but I love how gracefully we can work with little, and from there slowly but surely get our lives back together. Our lack of First World ego is deserving of deep respect.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ll be back to criticize whatever needs to be criticized, in the interest of moving us forward. But for now, I’m just glad that I can have faith in our people, and know that it won’t be a pipe dream.

* * *

Tweet the author @catedeleon.