I had my qualms in writing about this particular episode of my life because thousands of others had the same, if not worse, encounter on the same day. I felt the wounds are a bit too fresh to rub salt in, but then realized the effects of the great flood of Sept. 26 will continue to linger… long after it has been forgotten.
It started out like any ordinary Saturday and came as quickly as it had gone. Time, was of course the essence at the time, because it was my baby brother’s birthday and my mom had sent our driver and maid to shop for fresh noodles. She wanted to make her “special pancit bihon” for the occasion.
I usually stay with my parents during the weekends, mainly to help Daddy prep his morning radio show and dupe Mom into buying me a couple days’ worth of groceries. I came downstairs still reeking of smoke from the cigarettes I smuggled to my room the night before.
The warm sun greeted me through the velvet curtains of the sala and I noticed how little has actually changed in our house in 20 years. Sure, I was a bit older now but my bedroom on the second floor still moved through that kind, narrow hallway and 15 steps down to the living room. A grand piano occupied much of the view but on the opposite corner was the large aquarium with a single goldfish as its lone tenant. Above it was the wooden display of family pictures and albums that eventually led to my folks’ bedroom, where it contained, among others, another piano and other memorabilia I never took much notice of.
I paused to look at the family with their ongoing activities for the day and relished being a significant part of it. There was breakfast at the table, Dad leafing through newspapers in his rocking chair near the billiard table on the patio, my brother just coming home from medical duty, and Mom dicing carrots and onions in the kitchen for her “special pancit bihon.” After the traditional pleasantries and greetings, I gobbled up my oatmeal and walked passed the library, passed our basketball court, passed the green garden, to the garage and started my car. My dog Eggbert then came running towards me in the hopes of being handed a quick snack, but got a disappointing pat on the head instead. He ended up getting bribed with a cookie, however, which distracted him as I drove off ‘cause if he ever got out, they’d have a hell of a time bringing him back. I smiled intently as I drove out the gates.
That was the last time I saw our house so beautiful.
During an uneventful brunch with friends to discuss a business deal that’s still too silly to be made public, I noticed how the sun had now been engulfed by the gray as heavy rains poured down from heaven like tears from a blubbering god. Within an hour of stale pizza and orange juice, my eyes widened in horror as the streets turned into a bathtub of floodwater and vehicles became rubber duckies. I was more than thankful to have escaped the wrath, I thought at the time. Back at the house, however, it was a different story.
All mothers, I think, are inclined to a bit of exaggeration. So when mine called Dad at work to say that the waters had reached the ceiling, she got slightly rebuffed. Enraged, she decided not to save any of his underpants — a decision that Dad would later pay dearly for. Actually, she didn’t have anything to be livid about because when Dad learned what was really going on, he ran home (literally), left the car at the radio station and braved the flood, which, by then, was already chest-deep.
Eggbert, who was never allowed inside the house, decided to stick to that rule even as the storm threatened to drown his snout in floodwater. He still looked chirpy, for some reason, and tried to stay dry on top of one of the high stones in the garden. It seemed his fate was sealed until my brother rescued him and deposited him on the second floor.
In fact, that’s where they all scurried off to safety when the entire level became a water tank. My mum and the helpers were able to save some essentials and some food, but the majority of our possessions were ruined. At one point, my brother, in a surge of adrenalin, was able to secure, virtually by himself, a 52-inch LCD TV which Dad bought for himself after his retirement. How he was able to carry that following a 36-hour shift at the hospital I’ll never know. He even considered going back down to save more stuff and climbed aboard a floating massage bed when mum yanked him off and said enough was enough. He was restrained, amid raucous protests. They all watched in terror as the appliances downstairs all came to life and partied like it was the Jazz Age.
When the waters neared the second level, my family and helpers started to go up the roof. When I heard about this, I decided to defy my parents to stay away and headed straight home, flood or no flood. As it turned out, I didn’t have to. After a day of being king and breathing havoc, the waters, those blasted waters, finally receded.
When I got home, the house was in an uproar. I braced myself for the worst and rushed upstairs. What I found was Dad yelling about, the grinning faces around him making him angrier by the second. After making sure everyone was alive, I turned and looked at him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Your mother.” He said.
“What did you do, Mom?”
“Nothing. He needed some underwear pero wala akong naisalbang mga brief niya, eh. So I offered him one of the few that I saved for myself.”
“C’mon, Pop! Swallow your pride and wear ‘em.”
“I did! But why would she lend me T-back panties?”
We had to wait ‘til the morning light to see the actual damage of the flood, and when we did, it was like octogenarians in a Roman orgy. You just had to look away: the worst hangover scene ever.
Our dining table, which was made of oak, traveled 20 steps to reach the main receiving room and parked itself on the shattered glass of the chandeliers. The refrigerators in the kitchen did a Rigodon until they decided to take a break near the patio. Even our biggest and heaviest sofas tag-teamed and wrestled with other furniture until it got pinned for the three-count on top of the billiard table.
The pianos — our dear, lovely pianos — were turned upside-down. Mom and Dad’s rocking chairs waltzed together, embraced each other side-by-side and never let go. Kinda sweet when you think about it, actually. Wish I could say the same for our cars in the garage. Two of them were so smashed up an overhaul is the least of their problems.
I grudgingly treaded my feet in the mud and searched for any shoes or clothes that I could salvage for myself. I wanted to stay strong despite the wreckage and thank my lucky stars that we survived but I still had to bite my lip to keep from screaming when I saw my cherished books, CDs and DVD collection destroyed.
Outside the patio where, just the day before, was a green garden, Dad walked around and sat on one of the kitchen stools that had found its way over there. He looked hard and long at what was once a beautiful home. He was a beaten man. I placed a hand on his shoulder and he took it. “Wala na tayong bahay, Matthew,” he said. Those words were all I could bare from a man who always kept his head up in the most trying of times. I mumbled some excuse and went to the bathroom and cried — for the first time in years.
Although the main thing in life is to make sure that everything goes right, things don’t always go exactly as planned, do they? And we often have to live with that disappointment. Granted, you pay your dues and learn to suck it up; but there’s always this little part inside that wants to be in a dream that nobody sees but you.
I probably would have taken longer to come out of that state had it not been for the shrieks from my mom. Dad and I ran to see if she was okay. When I saw her laughing, I thought: That’s it. She’s finally gone mad.
“What on earth are you smiling about!?” I said. “We lost everything!”
“Your baby tooth!” she sobbed with joy. “I found it! And your brother’s! And look, your baby hairs from your first haircut! It’s all here! Still sealed! Isn’t it great? I’m so happy!”
We never were a sentimental family, but I guess, deep down, we knew what mattered most to us.
Dad gave her a hug and winked at me. “Well… almost everything.”
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E-mail: estabillo_rt@yahoo.com and estabillo.matthew@gmail.com.