The Same Deep Water As You*
Provident Village: rage, rage against the dying of light
Music and musings after almost losing one’s family to Ondoy
“Kiss me goodbye
Pushing out before I sleep
Can’t you see, I try
Swimming the same deep water as you is hard”
What apt words. I don’t know if I should call this a tragedy. Is it a tragedy? It is tragic, but not quite a tragedy. Is there a difference?
I may have not experienced the trauma of being 60 feet above flood water, but worrying about your family stuck there is another story. It is a story I claim.
“The shallow drowned lose less than we”
Saturday, 10 a.m.–I, along with my editor, came from an sleep-deprived overnighter to close a magazine issue. On the way home, we got stuck for hours nearby Katipunan Avenue in Quezon City, as the said street was already submerged in waist-high water. Puzzling, since I don’t remember heavy rains during the night before. But in my gut I knew something was going wrong, especially back home. Proof came in when my father sent out these text messages:
“Pls. call Meralco para putulin ang kuryente. Baha na dito.”
“SOS. Nasa bubong na kami ng bahay. Joe Tayawa, 11 St. Rita St, Provident Village, Marikina.”
After a few frantic phone calls, I’ve been informed that everyone in the family was stranded inside the house, except for my brother, Jeffrey, who went to school earlier that day. While immobile, I never felt my heart beat so loudly, so strongly, that when my chest is pressed against a table, the table shakes as if in an earthquake. My heart makes little earthquakes at the thought of losing my family. When that happens, it would definitely stop beating. Everything would have been rubble.
“You breathe the strangest twist upon your lips
and we shall be together”
Saturday, 10 p.m.–I, along with my brother, Jeffrey, was staying at our Auntie Emy’s house in Barangka, Marikina. Almost everyone in my extended family was already calling NDCC, but no results came. We were losing sleep and sanity (almost), to the rubber boats that never came to our house’s street. We were constantly in contact with one of my my stranded brothers, Kuya Jon, whose voice was proportional to the battery life of my cellphone. He never failed to ask me about the rescue team, and I never failed to tell him that it was on its way. At the time, they, along with twenty other neighbors, were camping on our house’s rooftop for 12 raining hours. I was losing sleep over the thought of our rooftop, a sanctuary for people, being endangered by benevolent waters. Over hypothermia. Over the faint crying in the background. The last thing I learned before my battery finally failed, it only took a meter before it flooded at the third floor. I fell asleep at about 3 a.m. to the AM radio’s cacophony of SOS’s and to the sirens outside. The sounds of helplessness.
Rescue from the government never came. Jeffrey instead risked his life at 5 a.m. to tread the flood, which had subsided, and to collect the stranded before things got any worse.
Waiting is always the hardest part. It was almost 8 in the morning the next day when my aunt’s neighbors were talking about the dead. Bodies being fished out in nets from the Marikina River, many of them, children. I could only stare in shock. Instead of eating breakfast, I only removed dust from my eyes.
“Forever on nights like this I will kiss you
I will kiss you and we shall be together”
But my family is alive! Papa, Mama, Kuya Jon, Jason, and Jay Anne–they’re all safe.
Everything else ceases to matter when your see your father, mother, brothers, and sister, all drenched in mud, faces drowning in a mix of disbelief, relief, and confusion. Those faces– whose emotions I could not paint, that are variations of my own face–I wouldn’t have had the chance of seeing alive again. Those faces whose bodies would have been swimming/floating directionless in deep water. I could not imagine that day.
When I gave them the Thank Heavens You’re Alive embrace, they don’t know how much my eyes were flooded, but could not spill any tears. My head hurt in the process. I handed out the tuna sandwiches I made…
***
The aftermath
It’s been almost a week. Until now, I haven’t properly processed this tragic event that claimed hundreds of lives and homes. In Marikina, flood had totally subsided, but we still have to deal with sludge, the heaps of useless, muddied belongings (and insurance policies without “Acts of God” ticked, included.)
All I think is, which my father also echoes, the river is claiming what is rightfully hers. She’s probably saying, “You, people, are just renting out Marikina’s waterways, and the contract is overdue. What good riverbed will a former residential subdivision will now make.”
As for me, I’ve retrieved only a few things from my former room. Inventory: a suitcase, a mountaineering backpack, four pairs of footwear, and some CDs (The Velvet Underground’s Legend, The Cure’s Bloodflowers, Cocteau Twins Four Calendar Cafe, and Barbie’s Cradle’s free VCD.) Everything I have had ceased to matter. Clothes, old journals since high school, photos, artworks, books, and magazines–all a waste.
Sludge and trash in front of our house
(Tangent. I’m contributing to the garbage problem. Think about it: when we all die, all our stuff turn into trash. So from now on, I will live out of my suitcase and backpack. It’s an exercise in simplicity and sustainability.)
A friend told me, you’ll learn how easy it is to let go of things. It’s true. I’ve learned to let go of them all. I’m left with my family–my backbone– which props me to stand up and walk forward. And/or probably help me swim, which reminds me to finally take up lessons.
*Song written and performed by The Cure, a band that helps me through bad times.
** I would like to take this chance to thank everyone who have supported me and my family during this challenging time. All your prayers, morale boosters, and financial help are very much appreciated. When it rains, it’s four nga. Let’s continue helping victims of Ondoy.
I love you all. Salamat. Being alive never felt this good.
