Perhaps I am speaking for everyone when I say that people--most of them, at least--will only be stirred to action when catastrophe looks at them in the eye. I myself was never really the type to mourn over disasters in my country, but when the first floor of the house got submerged by the flood which continued to make its way up to the second, this inclement typhoon called Ondoy dragged me out of the comforts of my status. It spared no one because it equalized Filipinos to the same dust.

I suffered just like my countrymen did. Although I did not experience having to swim in muddy water or having my possessions destroyed or missing, I was tormented last Saturday because I was alone. My father was in some province, as usual; while my mother was at the office. My brother was in school supposedly taking an exam. Indeed, my loneliness and inability to contact any of my loved ones are trifle matters in comparison to other people's. Yet I had no idea what I would have done if the water made its way for the kill; my mind was already going ballistics the moment I found out the house was getting flooded--it has never happened before.

I watched the cars of my grandparents, of my uncle and my aunt and that of my dad be quickly consumed by the dirty waves. As much as I wanted to get them to higher ground, I knew not how to drive. So there I was on the second floor, looking out the window, thinking of karma. Those owners of the cars have gone too far with their cruel ways. My grandfather, though I have a soft spot for him, has grown impatient and tactless. I'm not really sure if my tyrant of a grandmother had anything to do with it, but it is possible. On the other hand, my uncle and my aunt have lived faking their affections, lying to everyone, including themselves. Regarding my father, well, I'm certain he felt the same pain my mother, my brother and I felt after discovering his infidelity. Who would have thought that the drowning of his two Mercedes-Benzes is the key to inflict anguish on him? As heartless as my thoughts seem, I do not deny them. Let them implicitly praise Him who lets things happen for good reasons at the right time.

Honestly, I am not happy about what has happened. I do see the light amidst the dark clouds looming overhead, and am very grateful that there are people who are saved, that my family and my friends are okay, that I am even able to empathize, sympathize and be thankful--I was not really of that sort before. Moreover, I do think that this calamity serves as the object of change for the people: to love the environment by properly disposing garbage, not illegally cutting down trees, etc.; to love one another by donating goods at this time of need, to have that bayanihan spirit as termed in my country, praying, and the list goes on. Then again, I can't help wonder if the lives of those people going through sorrow and hopelessness, or those lives taken away, are payments for the lesson to be learned for the betterment of all. If ever they were, is it right? Of course, sacrifices must be made, and the lives of a fewer group of people are nothing compared to those of the generations to come. But I find it so sad a fate to have been used to educate people who have big propensities to be ignorant and uncaring.

While I was having dinner a while ago, I was feeling more down than I did the day the typhoon came. It dawned on me that not everyone cares. My grandmother was busy fixing things for her office, ordering the maids to go here and there. I'm not saying there is anything wrong in trying to get things back on track, because it isn't bad in the first place. What struck me was the fact the she didn't even bother to think of the victims, to give time in sympathizing or something of that sort. Instead of just letting the maids lift several sacks of rice from the first to the third floor last Saturday, she could have at least spared one to be given away to those in need. Perhaps she's too busy with her business; I can't take that against her, but I'm disappointed that her heartstrings weren't tugged. On the other hand, my father, who sat beside me, carelessly slurped his noodle soup. Although this has nothing to do with the affected ones out there, it made me ponder on how inconsiderate people can be. He didn't realize--or maybe just forgot my telling him--that it disgusts others, even myself. I eventually lost my appetite, but managed to gormandize my share of food before going down to shun the macabre sounds of the slurps.

The television was turned on to one of those news channels. I heard in the background that there are still areas that are flooded until now, and that a lot of people still waiting to be rescued. Now I'm not a fan of listening to the news, since most of them are bad ones, but idealistic as it may seem, it's there to stir people even in the slightest way. And in this state of calamity, I believe that everyone is called to do something, to at least pray that the country and its people would be better soon. It is important to take part in the rebuilding in one's little way, because he is his brother's keeper. Besides, what is so beautiful in finding oneself stand alone in the cold, when everybody else is sitting or crouching, and warmed by the love that is all around?

Last night, as I tried to do my homework while asking some friends in my two bands if they were interested in auditioning for the Battle of the Bands this coming September, I suddenly lost control of my emotions. I was about to burst, so I dashed to my room as quickly as I could. After closing the door, tears immediately started falling.

I wept as if I have never wept in my entire life. I couldn't even stand properly on my feet, so I placed one hand on the wall for support, and the other on my mouth to quiet myself from all the sobs I was creating. My body was bent forward as my heart squeezed out all the pain which it had collected for the past months, and perhaps the veins that grew in my neck became well-defined during the process of silently screaming all the agony away.

Images of people were in my mind that time when my tears were painting my face rubicund. Is it possible, or even rational, that the reason for my anguish is the people who are dear to me? I had my share of having my foes shoot arrows all over me, poison me with their words and slash me with their glares, but it seems that even they aren't as cruel as my loved ones, because they never really managed to make me break down the way I did last night--well, if ever they were successful at doing so, I probably have already forgotten, which means I have long ago forgiven them. My peers who think ill of me show their true sentiments without even considering civility; they make it easier for me to know whom I can or cannot trust or depend on. On the other hand, the people whom I learned to love and care for, the ones whom I have accepted despite differences and flaws, pretend that they are the slightest bit concerned. I wonder if they ever get tired of showing their so-called love without truly loving the other person--in this case, me.

Yearning for a word that has the power to ease the suffering even for a tiny bit, I kept a very watchful and teary eye on something that was just on the table in front of me. The blackness of the small rectangular screen outlined with silver and positioned between the metallic dark blue corners of this certain object, made it clear to me that I wasn't going to get what I wanted. In desperation I prayed for the screen to light up to a beautiful pure white and illustrate to me a picture of an envelope, but it didn't. I cried more afterward, since I was being left clueless and innocent of whatever it is that is going on; I hated the intolerable tranquility.

What kept me in such a bad condition were the same thoughts my mind was producing for weeks. I didn't find comfort in the fact that we are moving back to a house which is too crazy to be called a home. Depend upon it that I have been blaming this man who probably doesn't know what the basic needs are. I dare say he is a fool if he knew the three, and didn't even bother to provide my mother, my brother and me with them. Of course I wouldn't deny that I am luckier than my fellow countrymen, and perhaps that I am more selfish and ungrateful, too. But the lingering idea that he gave that other woman the things he should have given his family instead makes me angry each time I think of it. It is one thing to have an affair, and another to fail as a father in providing all sorts of needs. Then again, I also have been pitying him for turning out into a person only a few can respect or admire.

While I criticized these men, occurrences and some classmates last night, it dawned on me that I was being mean. And the instant I saw a girl with bloodshot eyes, scarlet cheeks and plump red lips staring back at me from the mirror, I began insulting myself as well. "A white-washed tomb!" shouted my brain.

I waited until my face showed no signs of the color red, then I went back to the room where the computer is. I didn't know how long I was gone, so I was surprised to see ten people waiting for me to reply to their instant messages. Most of them were asking me what was wrong--they were smart enough to decode my status message about how I felt, yet they weren't knowledgeable about it being a line from a song I've been singing to myself--and I was deeply touched that there are still people who are kind enough to pause for a while and cheer someone like me up.

"I know that you're a better person than about 90% of the Philippine population," comforted one of my good boy friends. After reading his message, I felt a wave of peace flow inside of me. His statement could be wrong, but the fact that goodness was seen in me had an impact so massive that I wanted to spread the love to everybody else. It didn't, and it doesn't, even matter how little of that I have received in seventeen or so years of living. I will quote something he shared to me: Love is the only thing you can give without having.

It is a miracle, really, how I was able to be so happy after a breakdown. I know I still have to grow accustomed to a certain kind of silence that is becoming more and more unbearable, and being unable to speak bluntly about it even to my best friend is terribly disappointing. Despite knowing that, I shrugged my shoulders and was left absolutely joyous that if a stranger had seen how I talked and treated those ten people last night, he would have thought I was either high or in love.

A wise man once said – “You can have anything in life if you’re willing to sacrifice everything else for it.” What he meant is nothing comes without a price. So before you go into battle, you better decide how much you’re willing to lose. Too often going after what feels good means letting go of what you know is right. And letting someone in means abandoning the walls you’ve spent a lifetime building. Of course the toughest sacrifices are the ones we don’t see coming. When we don’t have time to come up with a strategy to pick sides….or to measure the potential loss. When that happens, when the battle chooses us, and not the other way around, that’s when the sacrifice can turn out to be more than we can bear. -Ellen Pompeo as Meredith in Grey's Anatomy (Season 2, Episode 23)

Perhaps one of the things I learned in this year's summer vacation is that nothing which is of this world is permanent. I might have known that long ago, but the unpleasantness of such a realization was absorbed by both my heart and mind just recently. And as I am still in distress over matters and people who have made it incumbent on me that I resent and completely lose my love for them; as I pine for wisdom, prudence, answers, and the deadly but sweet reciprocation of my affections, I do nothing but contemplate, feel my soul weep, and wait for the black empty evening to dominate the skies once again.

When that particular morning arrived after having many dark nights, I reckoned that day to be different. It was as if another sound, something foreign to me but nonetheless beautiful, emerged from the still air the night possessed; therefore forming dew drops in my heart which delighted me very much. I remember I was happy--no other adjective could suit me more at the time. Although, I must confess, I heard my conscience warn me regarding the evanescence of almost everything involving those glorious moments--yes, there were quite a lot of those--I was partly ignorant of the reality of losing, and partly optimistic about having my chances and living blissfully. Obviously, the hopeful side was stronger. How could it not be more powerful? Aside from my own folly, my lack of experience, intellect and knowledge due to my youth, I was again a breathing human being with a beating ball of muscle that was excited to love! Giving my heart was inevitable.

Loving that person who may or not may not be worthy of it is something I do not regret doing at all. I have learned, and still am learning, several things through him--more about life, his character, myself, and some other things I dare not mention lest his identity be revealed. And among the people who know me and are actually acquainted with me, not one of them has any idea what the key is to attain my attachment, nor has been able to miraculously hit the target. Yet, he was that person who unlocked the several gates in my heart, who destroyed my walls, who killed my guards. He took over me, and he still has me. Because of him, I have a battle constantly going on against myself: to remain principled versus to break the foundations of my being. It is very apparent that he is the man to acknowledge for either my betterment or downfall as of this point in time.

That joyful morning has long been gone. It is nothing but a memory or a dream, whose existence I question. I know that the daybreak happened, for I see the poignant sunset before me now. What I can't believe is what those hours contained and how they were spent which made my heart knock at my ribs. And with each second that passes, with each blow of the wind that molds those clouds, splashed with all kinds of reds, blues, and purples, into strange figures more oddly shaped than the last, I feel the pain of such a parting grow and grow. Not only did he manage to insert a key into my heart, but he also managed to drag a knife through it; hence the bitterness. How very charming!

In my life, like all things and people that come and go, he is part of that majority who stepped in then out of my life seemingly in a matter of seconds, too short a time to have any word of farewell. However, he, too, is part of that minority who left me, but made an impact so massive, making me unable to let him go easily. I wonder if I ever played any role in his life. He has many things going on, has a life akin to a dramatic movie, so creating a mark is difficult, even impossible.

I think I mean nothing to him. As much as I want to believe his comforting words that give me goosebumps, I refuse to do so. I have been convincing myself that I am but a stranger to him because I have to give him up eventually; it is what prudence calls for. My heart is injured and can only be healed with his help, his love. Which do I consider: caution that breaks my heart or my heart that may be torn asunder sooner or later? Either way, I lose. The blackness of the night comes to swallow me whole.

About four hours ago, I was staring at the last piece of dumpling that laid in front of me, its succulent appearance tempting me to seize it with my chopsticks. In the background, just outside the restaurant, people started running from one side of the mall to another, and I merely watched them carry on with what they were doing. Someone's face suddenly caught my attention. Ah, it was my grandmother's sister who was standing one floor above us and facing my direction. Seeing her before I, as well as my other relatives, had dinner was a lovely surprise, but there was nothing pleasant about what was going on.

I didn't quite understand what she was trying to say, and reading her lips hardly did the trick. I heard from one of the shoppers the words "fire" and "shooting". Immediately, more people, perhaps everyone, ran for their lives. My uncle grabbed his children, then dashed to somewhere. I stood up and tried to follow him after pondering whether or not I bring food with me, but the thought of a bullet coming in contact with me made me seek refuge in another restaurant which stood beside the place where we were eating; there was no way I would have followed him amidst the stampede.

The employees of that particular restaurant pulled down some kind of metal gate frame in order to protect us. It was at that time that I realized that I was separated from my relatives. Before I knew it, panic was dominating my system. I creeped to the corner of the room, thinking that I would be safe at that spot. There were others who were with me--majority of them were crouching on the ground; the little kids were crying all over the place; some were even throwing up on the floor--who were just as terrified as I was, because as their eyes met mine, there was an understanding of sorts which basically screamed, "This could be the end!"

The silence should have been perfect, but the popping sounds and the sounds of glass breaking then crashing to the floor filled the air. I seriously thought I would die. These ideas sent chills down my spine: I would die among strangers; I would die without having told the family that I love them; I would die without having done anything worthwhile; I would die without having known how it feels to be truly loved by a man.

One of the waiters was peeking outside. He announced to us the existence of a fire at the second floor. There was no such thing as guns and shootings in the area. And in a matter of a second or two, I was briskly walking out of the restaurant as I hung my bag on my shoulder and across my body.

"It's running time," I told myself, signaling the escape.

I rushed to the escalator that was going down and headed for the parking lot where I came from before I entered the shopping center this evening. I was actually planning to find the car of my grandparents. I didn't really have anything else in mind after that. Suddenly, I remembered that I didn't even have a clue as to what the plate number was or where the driver parked the vehicle, since he dropped us off at the entrance. Frustrated, I decided to go back inside the mall, go up again, and get the hell out by darting through the way I'm used to passing.

I eventually got in another parking lot. I used both of my hands to dig into my bag to get one of my cellphones out. With the angry honks the cars were creating, it was impossible for me to hear myself think. My hands trembled violently as I looked for someone I could call. I ended up phoning first not my mother, my father or my brother, but a friend.

Despite the pain that I felt in my legs, I kept on running, looking for the way out. I was already on the phone with that certain person, and noticing fear and panic in my voice, he started telling me to calm down and to look for a safe place to stay. When I finally saw the end of the parking lot, I was so relieved that I ran even faster. A man in black uniform appeared a few feet ahead of me. Apparently, he was letting the people go back inside the mall. I then had to choose if I should or shouldn't succumb to such an order from a man of authority and insanity.

"Why the hell would I follow him? What does he know? I'm almost out, dammit!" I heard my rebellious self yell those words in my head with a few curses here and there. I followed my instinct and darted to the exit. It was actually difficult for me to do, since I was wearing shoes not suitable for running, and the ground was an inclined surface. Nevertheless, I got to escape. Not bad for a kid my age.

I never quite expected that getting wet and feeling the soft breeze on a rainy Saturday night would be a tad comforting. It didn't take long before I found a shady place to stay. Jogging with my phone still sandwiched between my hand and my ear, I made sure that there would be no room for another catastrophe like falling down on the slippery pavement or getting hit by a moving vehicle as I crossed the street. Upon reaching the territory of BPI--more like under the roof of the bank--I was able to breathe quite normally again.

I was on the phone with a number of people, mostly with members of the family who were wondering where on earth I was. My aunt wanted me to go to UCC because they were all there; I told her I couldn't because it was raining. My mind mentioned another alibi, but I no longer uttered the excuse. There was no point in doing so anyway, since it was imperative that I go find them, even if I didn't want to.

Walking on the sidewalk that glistened because of the puddles of water and the lights that came from fire trucks, I was telling my friend that he didn't have to go all the way to Rockwell to console me or to keep me company. I was pretty much sure that things would be fine, considering the fact that I knew where my relatives were and how to get there. Although the fear I felt still clung onto my heart--perhaps because of trauma--there was a gut feeling that the worse was over, and all that was left was to be reunited with my family.

"Stephanie! Stephanie!" I heard someone bellow. I turned to see that the person who called me was my grandparents' driver who was in the car that was parked at the other street. I ran towards his place, opened the car door, and got in. I then told him that they were at UCC, and we had to go there. Because he humbly said that he didn't know where it was located, I assured him that I'll lead the way.

We got there after several minutes because of roadblocks that inevitably worsened the flow of traffic. After he parked the car, I opened the door, jumped off the seat, and raced him to where my relatives were waiting.

As soon as we all saw each other, they circled around me. Some of them asked me with a hint of vexation why I wasn't answering my phone, some complimented the rate of my running, while some expressed their relief.

During the ride going to my grandfather's favorite restaurant--it so happened that most of them haven't eaten yet--I still felt heaviness in my chest because of the incident which had too much action for me. It was hard to be calm even after being able to escape safely, perhaps because I was still in shock. I was grateful for a lot of things, though: for my not burning in the inferno, for my being alive and unharmed, for everyone's presence, and the list goes on.

I was contemplating about death, too. I was actually astonished that I had the impulse to save myself after I wished some time ago that I die soon. Maybe that in itself proves that I still have faith in myself, in the Creator and in the world; that I can possibly do and experience great things while I still have blood rushing through my veins.

I don't think I can look at life, including malls and restaurants, the same way again.

Sometimes pain becomes such a huge part of your life that you expect it to always be there, because you can't remember a time in your life when it wasn't. But then one day you feel something else, something that feels wrong, only because it's so unfamiliar. And in that moment you realize you're happy. -Chad Michael Murray as Lucas in One Tree Hill (Season 4 Episode 12)

Today should have been a day like no other. I don't believe that there is anything special in a rather simple Chinese exam and in some presentation for Music Class that consumed a hundred good minutes, because those are nothing compared to last month's events. However, despite the thought of having a conventional time in school, I would have to admit that I was somehow excited in having a taste of what the ninth of March had in store for me--a miracle for sure, since the usual bitterness that comes after rising from bed did not flow in my system this morning.

I planned yesterday the things that I'm supposed to do when I get home from school today: eat one of the most delectable and mouthwatering lunches that I will ever have in my entire life as soon as I step into the dining room--I simply can't resist my mother's cooking; start studying for Friday's dreadful Chemistry test; start reading Macbeth; blog. Perhaps my lousy course of action thrilled me so much, thus the anticipation. Yes, I am that shallow a person. Unfortunately, the biggest bulk that would have electrified me to my very bones did not happen. It turns out that classes today are regular, which therefore means that the dismissal time is at 3:30 in the afternoon, immediately crossing out the craved lunch waiting for me at home.

How I found out the real schedule was really hilarious on my part. I asked how long the presentation for today was going to take, and Diane was there to answer by saying that it would probably end before lunch.

I laughed then proudly said, "Lunch? Don't you mean dismissal? It's halfday today, man."

Diane's eyes opened wide with shock. "Really?" she asked in distress.

It didn't take long for Bets, Tet, Stef and Adelle to get themselves in the conversation, and all of them joined forces in convincing me that I was wrong.

"Yeah, right," I replied sarcastically.

"Yeah! Regular classes today," said the four of them with a peculiar look on their faces that made me doubt their words.

"Whatever, man. Don't play with me."

"We're serious."

"Oh my gosh. Really?"

"Yeah."

"Am I being punked?"

"Nope," whispered Bets as she shook her head.

"Oh my gosh. I have no lunch. I have no money to buy food." I was in panic as thoughts of starvation flooded my mind, and I even pictured my fetcher waiting in front of a closed gate outside school, wondering why the hell the gate is closed and where on earth the students are. I texted my fetcher when chance allowed me, and I ended up borrowing money from Tet.

Although I didn't have the pleasant lunch of yesterday's dreams or more amount of time to be productive at home, what appalls me the most about this fine day is my happiness behind the unfortunate events that clashed with my plans. It would have been one of the worst days when I would end up blaming God if all this happened last year, because I even told myself several times to bring my wallet today, so that I could finally pay the club fund. But since I have such a poor memory, the thought of bringing money escaped me, leading me to borrow money lest I starve and to remind myself again about the payments due.

The afternoon went by smoothly, and I actually found myself laughing so hard that I felt like I just did a million situps. I told some of my friends, whom I got to talk to about personal things today, that joy is such a foreign feeling, mainly for the reason that I have been so used to wallowing in misery. Despite the unfamiliarity of such an emotion, I can't help but wish for it to stay in my heart forever. Yet, I know that eternal happiness would erase the magic in life, so I'm going to settle with the topsyturvy matters going on in the world.