The Homecoming, an Epilogue

At one point, I was taking a yosi break after clearing out the things that could still be saved. Most of the furniture were intact, but almost all the appliances had to go. Sure, the refrigerator, the t.v.'s, and all the other appliances could always be replaced. However, there were certain objects that were painful to lose. The old pictures and albums of my family were glued together in a wet, sticky mess. The comics that I had kept from my childhood were in tatters. My mom's old letters, which I carefully kept under my aparador, were gone. The extensive classical cds I collected from all the travels I did through the years were in a large black trash bag.

I was heartbroken. It was hard to let go.

All I could do was find a dark corner where no one could see me, sit down, and tear up silently.

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A poignant scene from the movie "Up" crossed my mind. The old man had a treasured scrapbook his late wife put together. In it contained the pictures and memorabilia of their life they shared. Until that moment, he never saw that there was still space at the end the album. Written there was a note from his wife saying that they had the most wonderful memories together. It was now up to him to fill up the proceeding space with new memories of his own.

Then I thought, alright, these nostalgic things of mine are ruined and have to be thrown out. But they can never be lost because they are just mere physical representations of my past. They are in here, indelibly etched in my mind and heart. They will be always remembered for as long as I live.

I felt comforted with these thoughts. I reminded myself, just like the character in "Up", I now have a blank space - literally. It is the perfect opportunity to add new memories and experiences to fill out the remaining pages of my life.

And besides, Musa, my beloved Rhodesian ridgeback, was still able to leap at me with joy when he saw me come home. Yes, he survived the great deluge. He entered our helpers' quarters, the only area that wasn't reached by the flood waters. If he is still able to be happy after what happened, who am I not to be overjoyed? My family and I came through this trying chapter in our lives hale and whole.

Yes, we are safe.

Yes, we still have a roof over our heads.

Truly, there are things to be grateful for.

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A shoutout of thanks to all my friends who texted, called, ym'd, fb'd, twitted, and commented their concern and support. But my most special thanks goes to Jay Vee and Ting Ting Cojuangco (who chose to celebrate his birthday by being there at my house to provide manpower), both of whom helped me lift the old and heavy furniture around the house, and hosed down and scrubbed away the muck. To my school girl-friends, my special thanks, too, for washing the dishes and knick knacks that need to be cleaned (it was a sight to see PKF sitting down on a small plastic timba washing the dishes in a metal palanggana. Wearing a bolero skirt with matching boots. Leather high-heeled boots, mind you. Tell me, how bonnga can that get pa? lolz). And for those whose rooms and beds provided me respite at the end of the tiring days of cleaning up, my heartfelt thanks, too. Mapa-kama man o mapasahig, ang importante nakatulog ako ng mabuti. To all of you, you gave meaning to the phrase "walking the talk." May your tribe increase a hundredfold!

The Homecoming

"Eternal Wanderer, asan ka na?", our helper texted me at around 12:30 p.m. I was still safely ensconced in Cubao Boy's room after the previous day's harrowing experience. Truth be told, I was loathe to go home. I just wanted to stay in the room, cocooned from all the cares and troubles that I just went through. The thought of the house ruined was too much to bear. After all, it was more than a roof over my head and a place I go to at the end of a weary day. The house was my home. It was where I grew up, and bar-none future disasters, will be the place where I would live out the rest of my life. My heart was wrenching at the thought of having to face the reality of the disaster.

The skies were still overcast as I trudged my way home. Then it started to drizzle slightly. I couldn't help but think that the heavens were gently weeping for what it was seeing. On the streets, I saw the lives of the people out for the whole world to witness: ruined furniture, wet books and papers, dirtied pieces of clothes, slippers, and shoes. It was painful to look at; much more torturous to think that the same scene would greet me when I would get back home.

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"Ingat ka. Madulas ang sahig.", I was warned by our helper as I went through the gate.

The aluminum door was propped open, and I entered the house with breath abated.

I almost choked at the sight. It was worse than I imagined it to be.

The old, solid wooden furniture were overturned. Everywhere, the various knick knacks my Dad, Mom, and I collected through the years were strewn about. All the things that we weren't able to put above the water-line were clogged with flood water. Silted mud was on the floor, and there was a reek of stagnating dampness all over.

I carefully tried going around to examine the water damage.

It was pretty much extensive.

For a moment, I was overwhelmed. I didn't know where to start cleaning. Faced with the thought that I only had our helper, her husband, and her nephew for manpower, I almost wanted to give up right there and then. But of course I knew I couldn't.

I looked at my feet. There was a torn comic book lying in the mud. I sighed and slowly picked it up.

One at a time, I told myself.

One at a time.

The Deluge

Our house, the house that I grew up in the whole of my life, had to be abandoned due the flood waters that was fast rising to the roof. My dad and I decided to flee while the waters were waist high inside the living room. The whole household, starting with the kids, perilously climbed the roof to be able to reach higher grounds. I divested myself of the things that were unnecessary, grabbing just my laptop, external hard disc, Itouch, cell phone, chargers, and a change of clothes. The other things, after all, were expendable.

But the one important thing I couldn't bring was Musa, my beloved Rhodesian ridgeback. At one point, I had to go back to my room deep in flood waters because I forgot my wallet. Musa was there on my bed. He was already freaking out because of the rising waters. I had to do something. I grabbed him by the collar and forced him to swim in the abdomen-high waters in the house and brought him outside in the backyard. At least he'd have a better chance of finding a higher spot there.

As I climbed the makeshift ladder to the roof, I looked back at him.

My heart broke as he was barking at me frantically. All I wanted to do was bring him with me up the ladder. But with his size and state, it was all but impossible.

I just prayed to that Person Above to keep Musa in the palm of His hands.