The Stories We Tell

The Best Works of 12–Goldstein

[goldsteincnf]

Playtime

by Kyla Anel

Sofia Ruiz was only 4 years old when a gun was pointed at her head. A family-owned clinic was just closing down for the night when the uninvited entered the family’s second home. Heavily armed and masked strangers broke into the parents’ workplace and choked down the serene atmosphere. The silence was immediately captured by the men’s screams and urgent demands for money. The guns held Sofia, her maid, and mother and father captive, allowing manipulation to take place. They were now in control. Who knew Sofia’s life from playing with dolls and holding dress-up parties could turn to grown men playing with guns and pointing them to this child’s fragile skull? Their hearts beat to the ticking of the clock racing down to the seconds when the death toll possibly starts as the guns point to their heads and chests. Sofia and her family watched their every step - every single motion - trying to not be of burden to the men that hold the answer to how their night may end. Every breath was held back. Throats were choking on uncontrollable cries and screams for help, but none were able to escape. Fear overpowered yet again. With pure luck and destiny rightfully favoring them, the armed men grabbed what Sofia described to be her deceivingly large baby bottle, her father’s watch, and a nebulizer carrier bag thinking it was filled with all the cash the family may have earned that day. Upon the men swiftly leaving the scene, the family was left motionless in the stillness of the moment. Minutes later, with anxiety levels already on the maximum, someone had to top it all off. It served as the cherry on top for this whole mess of a bitter delicacy. The door creaks open, the Ruiz family hold their breath again. A man escapes the shadows and moves into the light. As he appeared to be a police officer, judging from the “uniform” he wore, sighs of relief followed and filled every edge and corner of the crime scene. This police officer entered the disheveled room with a face of genuine concern and worry. The family blindly responded to the man’s questions about what had happened, even while being numb to their core with shock. He assured Sofia’s family that he would file a report immediately, and for that single moment, they felt that harm was finally out of their way. Sadly, the luck from mistaking a relatively worthless bag for a bag filled with money and being let off alive ended there. The man was said to be a mere lookout for the group of armed men that broke in as he was spotted leaving in the same van. Keeping the faith, they awaited a report but unsurprisingly, they were just left empty-handed. Having to live a life with an experience of being faced with a gun at the prime age of 4 has its consequences. Sofia has faced panic attacks and anxiety on the daily - seeing visions of the past and settling with assumptions of possible murderers from the strangers that walk her way. Living a childhood indoors with constant fear of strangers and settling with the comfort of only her parents’ company was the reality for Sofia. A habit of averting people from school developed over the years. The lack of trust she possessed put up walls around her, making everyone else walk the opposite direction. Eventually, she found a way to suppress the emotions of the past and welcome people into her life again. “There will always be goodness in them," she mentioned. Her family, then, decided to move their clinic closer to home and move past the traumatizing incident. The healing process commenced. For the victims that have to face the consequences of similar crimes for the rest of their lives with her, she says to “embrace the past though it wasn’t a good experience, but it was an experience that taught an important lesson – a lesson to be more careful and observant of your surroundings to stay safe”. With this, Sofia urges the possible witnesses of similar crimes to help and do anything to keep lives out of high risk. Now for the criminals, all she has to say to them is "If money was all you were after, you didn't have to hurt people in the process. My parents are very charitable people and could've helped you had you asked nicely. Violence isn't a solution. Anyway, it's okay. God bless.” At the end of the day, material things have no real value. It is the life worth keeping, the one worth saving.

[goldsteincnf]

Mugged

by Jazel Antiporda

It may seem pessimistic, but I think that getting “held up” in the Philippines should be considered inevitable. It has become so common that several aren’t even as alarmed about this when this appears in the news. It’s quite saddening that even foreigners are aware of this fact and would have the tendency to be skeptical towards other Filipinos, assuming that they would be their next victim. My cousin, Jopee Planes, was one of the many victims of this crime. I did a background check on him and I was shocked to find out that this had occurred not too far from the village I live in, around ten years ago. This had made me feel slightly unnerved from the fact that this happened just a mere five minutes from the place I’ve spent the majority of my life in. Fairview is considered to be a province to some people; it’s far from the city, it’s quiet and quaint, the usual attributes of a common province. It may seem tranquil to some people, however, that is how people are caught off-guard; when they see what actually lurks within. My cousin never expected to be mugged all of a sudden. He didn’t dismiss the possibility of a mugging, of course. He just didn’t think it would happen to him of all people. Getting robbed on the spot is usually saved for stories from other people, that he didn’t consider the fact that even he would suffer under the same fate. This had occurred in the year 2006, when my cousin was just at the age of nineteen. He mentioned that at that time, he didn’t consider himself to be quite a religious man, but he had decided to go to mass then since some of his peers were there. When his parents found out that he was on his way to church, they were slightly surprised and gave him some money for the trike fare and for some snacks. This particular church he was headed to wasn’t too far from his house. It was probably around a 15-minute walk, or just a trike ride going there. When he arrived in Camaro St., still a few streets away from his destination, a security guard had approached him and suggested that he take the trike since it was starting to get dark, but he declined. Jopee revealed that at the time, he may have been foolish since he wasn’t paying any mind to his surroundings and would often distract himself by tinkering with his phone. He arrived at a street that didn’t seem to have any streetlights and was just poorly lit in general. He absently took note of three men who were lingering in the darker parts of the road, thinking nothing of it at first, despite the slight rush of anxiety. As he was walking home, looking forward to hit the sack after a long day, he was suddenly confronted with a man in the ill-lit parts of the road. He thought nothing of it at first, despite the fast beating of his heart. Then just like that, the man held up a knife and demanded that he give all his belongings. As I was interviewing him, Jopee couldn’t even begin to describe the dread that he felt in that very moment. At the time, the only valuables he had was his phone and wallet, as well as a couple of his school notes and writing materials. His feet were just planted firmly on the ground, frozen with fear and uncertain with what exactly to do. The man was just in front of him, with the weapon in his hand. Jopee decided that he couldn’t risk his life for just his valuables, which he may have had worked so hard for, but never mind that. He handed over his items cautiously, backing away slowly as he watched the man examine his items, probably ensuring that these were indeed valuable. Before he even knew it, the man was gone, and he let out a breath of relief. He still felt exasperated from his loss, but the extreme relief he felt overpowered his dread and anger. During that time, he mentioned that he wasn’t given any adequate aid from the authorities at all. The security guards weren’t at all present or at guard in the street. When needed most, they weren’t there. Before that experience, he knew that safety was important – of course, it was expected that everyone was aware of this obvious fact. He knew how to react during earthquakes, fires, and the like due to drills held ever since his elementary days. He certainly knew how to perform first aid, since he was taking a med course. Basically, he knew about the fundamentals of safety and how to respond, but in the end, none of that prepared him at all for that moment. It wasn’t that he was clueless as to what to do, he had heard stories from his other friends and read on safety precautions from social media regarding this. It was just that it was like his brain had ceased to work momentarily; he was frozen at his feet and the only thoughts in his head were panic-induced obscenities.

[goldsteincnf]

by Nicole Chua

My eyes were brimming with tears. I was on the verge of a tantrum. All I had wanted to do was go to my favorite mall; Mall of Asia, but the pouring rain had ruined my long awaited opportunity. I stormed back into my room and turned the television on while my parents explained why we couldn’t go out. I then saw that there was a typhoon ongoing, named Ondoy. I was persistent with my pleas and at one point they had almost agreed to my petition, but they eventually decided that staying at home was indeed for the better.

As we continued watching a random Filipino gameshow, we could distinctly hear the roaring rain accompanied by killer wind and flashes on flashes of lightning. Our neighbor’s chimes kept on whistling. My dad then goes outside to check our street, only to find out that there were about 3 inches of water on the sidewalk. Our place had been flooded before and all of us, especially my dad were frightened at the thought. We were definitely unprepared and overwhelmed.

A few minutes later, my dad called me and my mother to assist him in transferring our belongings in case of flood. I, being 9 and having a short attention span, did not do much to help. As we went up and down the house carrying various objects, water suddenly erupts from the kitchen floor. We burst into  panic. My mother hurriedly removes my hamster with its cage and lets me carry it upstairs. As I go back down, she hands me some boots while putting on her own. It was an anxiety inducing scene as the rain hit our roof like pellets from a gun while the water kept on gushing like a stream. As a silver lining, we see all the cockroaches hiding in our kitchen, scramble to find new homes.

It was a difficult time for us. We were only three in our household and with me being only a child, my mom and dad were left to do everything themselves. Different files were quickly shoved in a single box, not even a second to spare and segregate them. Various awards, golf trophies and medals were tossed in another container. All canned food and water bottles were transferred to our room upstairs. Large and heavy objects that could not be brought upstairs were piled on top of each other. This was only the beginning.

The water entered our garage and at first it crept slowly, but then evolved into a wave that pushed everything in its path.

Less than an hour later, the water had struck the first floor; this was when the reality of the situation had seeped in. At this point, all we did was shove the first things we saw into boxes. Eventually, the murky, foul smelling water had risen about knee level.  The typhoon had continued its fury, nothing stopping it’s path. As my parents continued on salvaging our items, our television rack falls face flat, with a loud splash in the water.

The water reaches a new height as it becomes waist deep. At this point, my parents had decided to go upstairs. As we gather upstairs, we all sanitize ourselves with alcohol and talk about how we were all shocked this happened. I thought about the devastation in other places, I’m sure some places were worse than ours. We just pray for everything to be over and for our safety that the flood may not reach the second floor.

It was humid in our dark room, scent of rotting flesh encapsulating us. Flashlights grasped in our hands and the sound of folders, our makeshift fans were drowned by the sound of the wind. For dinner, we had the luxury of eating spam directly from the can, and we had bottled water as our beverage. We had our ever so trusty trash can lined with old grocery bags as our toilet. Despite all of this, I was grateful.

From around 3 pm to 5 am, we were stuck, in the second floor, flood water occupying the ground floor of the house.

At around 8 am, my mom wakes me up, telling me that the flood had subsided. As I go down the stairs, I see the damage done. Our yellow floor appeared to be painted black, damp boxes were scattered everywhere and the distinct smell of flood water lingered. There was no electricity and we relied on flashlights to guide our way. We make it to our gate and see the damage. Our car had trash and flood water inside. Our neighbor’s roof looked like it was going to fall apart, and the most heartbreaking of all; as we check the hood of our car, we see the corpse of a cat, pregnant with kittens. She hopped into the hood of our car, thinking the flood would not reach them.

So much of our belongings had to be replaced. The financial burden was massive and the physiological damage was extreme. For so long, every time it had rained, we were sent into a crazed panic. For so long fear had encapsulated us, we were paranoid during slight drizzles. We moved most of our items upstairs, just in case. Now we know that if it happens ever again to prepare a kit with flashlights, food and other emergency supplies

To this day, fear of flood still haunts us. The nightmares were not as bad as before, but the gushing water and the sound of rain hitting the roof like bullets still linger in our minds. Images of our house full of water and trash will forever haunt us. Despite this, we were grateful.

Thousands of people died of the typhoon, we were lucky enough to be spared. Material things are nothing compared to being able to live each day knowing you’ve survived.

[goldsteincnf]

Roadkill

by Sophia Cudiamat

It was on the road where I found myself dreaming at the backseat. It was also on that road where I found a nightmare I didn't know I had become a reality.

My family and I were beat. Traveling from Manila to Dagupan then back to Manila then back to Dagupan was no easy feat. Everyone in the car was tired, but kind of used to it. It was something we did every year for my Grandfather's birthday back then for Christmas with my Dad's side. The warm sofas and festive home-cooked feasts compensated for the hour-long butt cramps and gasoline station pit-stop meals. The destination was usually always worth the journey, but nothing is worth what happened that day.

We had to make it back before traffic made it impossible to get home by lunchtime. It was a familiar scene, a comforting one that I took for granted. My family complete and together, sleepy but together. My dad took the wheel as usual, mom at his side. Like many other kids with a need to prove that "baby" no longer applies, my little sister and I loved sitting in front. Perhaps it was the way the light came in differently from the window or how the the view in front made life's possibilities seem endless, like the road ahead that made us love that spot in the car. It was my sister's turn, however, so I had to make do with sitting next to my brother. His drowsy and dorky smile was also the last thing I saw before escaping back into slumber, keeping in mind the amazing nap that awaits me inside my bedroom.

I can't remember if I dreamed during my sleep. I don't know if I was diving into pools of ice cream or riding a horse through a meadow of sunflowers while my eyes were closed. But there are days when I also wish I couldn't remember what I saw when my eyes finally opened. There next to my gurney laid my brother, his dorky smile gone and replaced by blood and bruise and cuts. Sirens and panicked voices played at the background, flashes of blue and red obscuring my vision. I guess my eyes decided the dark was better than what I was seeing and closed once more, enveloping me back into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, I was covered in white sheets, on a bed with white covers surrounded by white walls. This was no bedroom of mine.

"Where is my sister?" I cried out to anyone who could hear.

"Hi darling, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"I want my sister? Where is she?"

"She's just in the other room. You have to rest. You're going to be okay."

Lies. Lies. Lies. They didn't tell me what I wanted, what I needed to hear. But how do you tell a nine year-old girl that her arm and two legs were broken, accompanied by a busted lip and that she will have to go to school in a wheelchair for months? How could you tell her that she was in an accident, that she slept while her father swerved through the streets and caused a multiple collision with another car and tricycle? How do you tell her that they didn't make it back to Manila in one piece and that there'd be nothing merry about this Christmas? I guess the nurse decided for herself that she just couldn’t, and decided that I wasn’t ready to hear those answers. I don't know what happened but I knew things weren't "okay" from the moment I woke up.

They waited until my condition was stable. Later on I found out that my mom and dad died on the spot. My little sister with a need to prove that "baby" no longer applies flew from her seat and was thrown through the windshield. But that is what she was. She was a baby, a child too young to be found on the pavement with her head cracked open. And that my brother, the only one who got out of there alive with a heart still beating, died after one day in the hospital. They couldn't save him. They couldn't save any of them. And I slept through all of that. I did not see my brother hit his head, or hear my mom's screams. I did not notice my father's struggle in maneuvering or catch that look of wonder leave my sister's eyes. No, I was robbed of all of that. Death picked the lock, broke in, and stole everything that mattered. Death left me alone and lost.

But death could have left me in worse conditions. Throughout my recovery, I was showered with love and spoiled senseless. My relatives’ way of coping was making sure I never had to ask for anything or worry for myself. There were times I wish they remembered that there are wounds pretty doll houses could not heal. I still thank God every day for their attempts. They never handled my doll houses with as much care as they did me. My titas and titos would always be tiptoeing around me, as if I were glass ready to shatter, afraid they’d break me with one mention of “parents” or “brother” or “sister”. But they never saw me shatter, no one did. They told me they never saw tears stream down my face even when they expected them to. It scared them to see me have such control over my emotions but really, there wasn’t much to control. Losing so much in what felt like a blink of an eye, can either make you feel so many things or the exact opposite; empty.

I’m not as hollow as I was years ago. I’ve met people who have pieced certain fragments of me together. I have my own sons who take turns sitting next to me when I drive. Perhaps it’s the light from the window.

[goldsteincnf]

Twenty-Six Years

by Colleen Gonzales

The shrill ringing of the school bell only evoked either one of two emotions from me. One was annoyance. It meant the start of a new school day filled with lengthy lectures from boring teachers who couldn’t care less about their students who were about to drift off to dreamland. The other emotion was relief. It meant I could go home; to have a hot plate of my mother’s delicious pancit waiting for me on the dining room table. This time, it was the latter. I was relieved. I couldn’t wait to go home after a long Monday from school. To get to my pancit though, I had to hail a jeep and survive a hectic commute. This was what was usual for me. I get on the jeep while holding my skirt down in fear of the wind blowing it up, the usual. I wait for other passengers to pile up while barkers shout out the route that the jeep was taking. This wasn’t uncommon. I pay for the fare with student discount, of course, because we were never really the most well-off. This was normal. I finally get down and walk the few steps left going home. I remember seeing that plate of pancit and getting my own plate and fork, not even bothering to change out of my school clothes just yet. My clothes could wait. The pancit, however, was already calling my name. This was ordinary for me.

However, what I thought was just another ordinary day proved me wrong. That’s when the shaking began. The first thing I noticed was the swaying of the dangling lights on top of our dining table. After that, I felt the shaking of the earth from under my feet. To this day, I cannot fully describe what I felt, what I was thinking. It was panic, and alarm, and fear all at once. It was the feeling of my heart bursting, as if it wanted to escape from my chest. But it was also as if my heart stopped. It was the feeling of my brain trying to come up with the answers to all the questions in the world. But at the same time, it was the feeling of my brain suddenly going blank. The feeling was everything, but at the same time it was nothing.

My first instinct was to hide under the table. I remember hearing the sound of the dropping of metal kitchen utensils and the breaking of kitchenware. I remember seeing our large wooden aparador fall over and all I could think of was how my grandmother would react because not once did she let me touch that thing, saying it was antique. I remember hearing my mother praying her Our Father’s and Hail Mary’s out loud and joining in. I remember the cracking and the shaking of my voice while reciting the prayers that I knew by heart. I remember holding back the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. I remember taking deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm myself down, but failing. All of this happened in under a minute. Who knew sixty seconds of temblor could cause so much damage?

I don’t remember getting out from under that dining room table. I don’t remember finishing my pancit. I don’t remember how I stopped the tears or how I managed to calm down. It was a blur. It was a blur of tears and emotions and trauma and shaking. Lots and lots and lots of shaking. I don’t exactly remember the process or how I did it, but I distinctly recall climbing into bed, tucking myself in until the blanket was under my chin, and just staring at the wall. I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes and let my guard down just enough for me to fall into what was supposed to be a peaceful time for rest and relaxation. I couldn’t. What if another quake came? What if I didn’t make it the next time?

Morning came and I had the farthest thing from a good night’s sleep. I remember dozing in and out of slumber that night. I’d sleep for five minutes, then stay awake for two hours. I’d sleep for an hour, then stay awake for twenty minutes. I tossed and turned and changed sleeping positions but I just couldn’t bring myself to that sense of calm and rest that would eventually bring me to dreamland. I didn’t go to school that day, but the silence and eeriness at home had me wishing that I did. I needed a distraction. I needed noise, music, chatter, anything to take me away from this state of mind.

I remember going outside and listening in to the talks that my mother had with our gossipy neighbors. They had said that our town wasn’t hit as bad as other towns and provinces. I couldn’t dare imagine how the people in those towns felt. They had also said that our town wasn’t prepared. We didn’t have any emergency meeting places or any emergency plans. We just weren’t prepared.

Looking back at it now, I realize that we weren’t prepared at all. Twenty-six years ago, there were no such thing as go bags. No one talked about where to go after a calamity, or what to do or who to call. Now, I am glad to say that everything is clearer and there are more concrete plans on what to do. We’ve come a long way since then, and I am looking forward to witnessing more of the betterment and improvement of this country.

[goldsteincnf]

Selenophilia

by Sophie Habana

I watched from our car window as the street lights flicked by like a film show. The rain drops beat heavily upon the rear view window of our car. Darkness and gloom consumed the streets. What I remember most vividly that night, was the way the moon dominated the sky. Although it was a dreary gloomy night, the moon was outshining everything and its fullness was so captivating. Its light was a mesmerizing illumination that shone a top all the little cars, buildings, streets and people. It seemed so mystical and outside of this world. It seemed as if it were following our car. No matter how many kilometers we passed, it still caught up with us.

I was 7 years old and my mom was driving us home from work. She looked tired as the bags hung from under her eyes and a stoic expression spread across her face. I felt sorry for my mom. I wanted my mom to look at the moon. Maybe the sight of it would cheer her up. Maybe it would distract her from the dark dreary night.  “Mom, look at the moon! It’s so big and bright tonight.” “I’m driving.” She instantly dismisses my comment but I don’t want her to miss this moment. This exact moment for some reason, was of great significance to my 7-year-old mind. I felt like the moon would never ever look this surreally mesmerizing. “Mom it looks like it’s following our car! Look at it look how bright it is!” “I told you I’m driving, Selena.” She wouldn’t look at it. I remember how I just wanted to share that exact moment with her. I wanted us to look at the moon and admire it, because somehow I thought it would bring momentary peace to her busy world. “Look at it mom! Just look at it and you’ll see what I mean! Just look at it once, please!” I kept prodding her to look at the moon she began to get irritated. “I AM DRIVING! HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO TELL YOU THAT” I didn’t understand and at that time I was puzzled as to why she couldn’t just take one glance at it. “MOM JUST LOOK AT THE MOON! LOOK AT IT ONCE! PLEASE LOOK AT THE MOON!” “SELENA, I AM TIRED AND I JUST WANT TO GET HOME! PLEASE STOP TELLING ME TO LOOK AT THE MOON!” “LOOK AT THE MOON MOM! PLEASE JUST LOOK AT THE MOON! LOOK AT THE MOON! LOOK AT THE MOON!” The next thing I remembered is her finally turning to the side to look at the moon. We were at a stoplight. Then I felt a thud and I jumped from my seat. I heard the sound of a scream mixed with the heavy rainfall and I felt our car shake. I wanted so terribly to apologize to my mom at that moment.  I wanted to cry and to belt out apologies but no words left my mouth. I was in so much shock and that one second seemed to last for hours. I felt the weight of realizing that I only made things worse. I only wanted to cheer her up but I made everything worse.

I opened the car door and I saw a woman lying on the floor. I didn’t want to look at her. I didn’t want the details of her battered body engraved in my head. I looked away and closed the car door. My mom got up from her seat and left her car door open. I heard everything that happened afterwards. I heard my mom asking if she was okay. I heard the fear, anger and panic tremble in her voice. The woman wasn’t unconscious and she seemed to be vaguely belting out words. My mom reentered the car and the woman followed her crawling. As soon she was able to stand and she tried to get in our car. “Dalhin mo ako sa ospital! Kailangan kong pumunta sa ospital!” We pulled over at the nearest side walk. A few moments later a cab swung by. My mom hailed it and the girl got in the cab. My mom requested the cab to go to the emergency room in the nearest hospital. We followed the cab in our car and a worried silence plagued the air between both of us. When we arrived I noticed the girl more. We were in the hospital for a couple of hours and I sat waiting on a bench outside the emergency room. I looked through the small window to see what was going on. Now I saw the woman. She wore a thin white cotton shirt, washed out denim jeans and her hair was black and styled like a pixie cut. I felt a surge of guilt and pain. I wondered what she must’ve been like. I wonder where she was heading and where she came from. What her life was like and if she noticed the moon too.

My mom exited the Emergency Room door and she paid for all the expenses. The woman we hit ended up okay.

I sit now and think of all the different ways the conversation in that car on that night could’ve went. I thought about the millions of ways how the situation could’ve been avoided. Now I am more cautious and aware of how everything I do. No matter how insignificant that action may seem at that moment, it could make a huge impact on other’s lives.

[goldsteincnf]

Stay Strong

by Patricia Ibay

It was a typical afternoon in Katipunan. The streets were littered with beeping cars and roaring motorcycles. The traffic was as bad as it always was. Vehicles were hurrying, probably parents fetching their children from Miriam College or Ateneo De Manila University.

Jing Vega was in the same situation. She was on the way to pick up his son from school but the busyness of the streets made it almost impossible. Cars were barely moving and all she could do was wait and stare. A few moments later, the movement of the traffic sped up and before she knew it, she arrived in Ateneo. It was no longer a surprise, but even the school was jam-packed with cars and school buses. She drove around to the area of grade schoolers. There were other kids waiting to be fetched and cars waiting for their passengers.

She parked on the side of the road with the sign “Unloading Area” and gets off the vehicle. Her eyes carefully searched for his son from the crowd of boys. His son soon appeared from the group of students and spotted his mom immediately. When she was on her way to go back to her car, a screech of wheels and the roar of a car were heard. Before Jing could see what was happening behind her, there was a strong force that hit her back and pushed her down to fall. Pain painted over her weary face as she failed to balance herself and fell with a thud. There was blood from somewhere. She was too shaken up to notice that it was from her and that she was bleeding.

A thousand thoughts were coming in and out of her mind. She didn’t even know what really happened to end up like this. She was so close to fainting but she knew that she had to let her family know. Wordlessly, her wounded fingers searched for her phone in the pocket of her pants. The cold metal of the phone made her retract her hand but as soon as she let go, she held on again. She dialed her cousin who is a doctor, and told him to call for an ambulance. After, her cousin, she called her husband and friends to make them aware of her accident. As she dropped the phone and finally acknowledged her surroundings, there were school staffs that were coming near her and guards calling for an ambulance. With that, she knew that she was in good hands.

After the incident, she woke up already in the hospital. She had bandages on almost every part of her body. She wasn’t able to neither stand nor sit on her own. The doctors have told her the impact of the car was really strong and that she was lucky to still be alive. They also told her that she will have to undergo 6 months of physical therapy. Jing knew that she needed to be strong, for her family, friends and herself.

The hardest part of her recovery was not being able to do the things she used to do. She couldn’t drive and do errands. She had to continue her therapy and gain her strength back. If she pushed herself to do these things again, it may end up in disaster and even more time in physical therapy which was clearly not what she was going for.

As months passed, Jing became more prayerful. She often prayed for guidance as she goes through these obstacles in life and for the strength to continue her therapy. Of course, there were times of frustration and mental exhaustion, but she knew that she had to do this for her family and to finally go back to the way it was before. She became mentally alert after her accident. She became more observant of her surroundings and senses.

At this moment in time, she can proudly say that she is emotionally stable after the incident. Her family and friends have helped and guided her to become healthy and happy again. Their support has been outstanding and their love for her has motivated her to overcome this trauma. Jing will forever be grateful for the people that gave her a reason to be strong.

[goldsteincnf]

Shake It Off

by Bea Legarda

The Northridge earthquake that hit southern California was by far the strongest that had struck the area. The 6.7 magnitude temblor which lasted about 10-20 seconds caused 57 deaths with over 20,000 people displaced from their homes and more than 8,000 injuries. The earthquake’s damage cost approximately $42 billion, making it the second costliest disaster ever recorded in the United States.

It was a typical Sunday night for me; I was simply doing my nightly routine. I had dinner with my family, watched television, then I had put my kids to bed. Little did I know that this would be the night that would change our lives forever.

I was having a good night’s rest before my sleep was abruptly interrupted by the earthquake. At approximately 4:30 am on January 17, 1994, I was suddenly thrown off my bed and onto the floor. My first thought was to get my five-year old daughter, Katrina, when I heard her loud screams. Our entire house was shaking as I ran to her in the next room. My heart sank when I entered and saw my daughter crying under the blankets - helpless. I tried to calm her down by picking her up in my arms and repeatedly told her that everything was going to be alright, and that her daddy was there to protect her. After doing so, I went to the next room and grabbed my wife, Leia, who had taken our 11-month old baby, Katelyn, from her crib, and ran out of the house. My legs were unsteady, and that single minute felt like it lasted forever. It was the longest minute of my life.

As we huddled outside, freezing cold, I saw our house crumbling right before my eyes. The first aftershock occurred approximately 3 minutes after the initial event. My five-year old was crying uncontrollably and I felt frail and powerless. With the power out, we had absolutely nothing but the light of dawn to save us from the darkness that we found ourselves in.

After around 10 minutes of standing outside the house processing what had just happened, I told my family to come back in to what we could barely call a home. As we entered our house, I could not help but shed a tear. I felt like my whole world was taken away from me. Our house was a mess. The floor in our living room was separated into two, a number of our cabinets and shelves were no longer where they used to be, and there were several cracks on the wall. It was a disaster. I already knew then and there that I could not afford having the whole house repaired.

As it was just 5 am when my family and I were back in the house, my whole family just wanted to return to their beds and sleep. Katelyn was fast asleep as she laid in her crib. Katrina, on the other hand, had trouble doing the same. She was asking me why that just happened, if the house will go back to the way it was, and if something like that would ever happen again. I did not know how to respond to a five-year old who had just gone through all that trauma. As to reassure her that everything was going to be okay, I told her that she had nothing to fear and that her daddy got everything covered. I knew that was a lie.

Since I could not fall back to sleep as my thoughts consumed me, I decided to head out to see for myself the damages the earthquake brought. What I saw was unbelievable. It was like a war zone. Seeing an entire apartment building collapse, freeways buckled over, and houses broken into pieces was definitely something I could never forget. I refused to accept that something that lasted for a couple of seconds could have caused that much destruction.

The next couple of days were hard. The fear of having another earthquake was the biggest challenge as substantial aftershocks could have rolled through the area at any time. Every little tremor made my wife and I grab the kids and run outside. After hearing about friends of friends who passed away due to the earthquake, I could not help but feel relieved that my family got out safely.

It was excessively difficult recovering from what happened, both emotionally and financially. There were nights when Katrina would wake up crying, thinking another earthquake had occurred. She even had to consult a therapist. It was especially difficult to repair our house. I tried to get help from several institutions – the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), an insurance company, and a bank we owed money to. Unfortunately, no repair was going to be done without substantial out-of-pocket costs.

I had a friend who had just moved to Arizona in 1993 and once news of the quake had reached him, he invited me to check Arizona out. It was never part of my family’s plan to move, but being left with no better option, we finally made the decision to do so.

Moving to Arizona was by far the best decision of my life. It gave us as a fresh start and it helped a lot since houses were a lot less expensive as compared to California. It did not take us long to get back on our feet again and live as if the earthquake never happened.

One thing I have learned from this experience is that it is best to plan in order to take precautionary measures. Make sure the entire family knows where to go and what to do in times of calamity and stock up on supplies for basic needs. It was a challenging experience, but I am more than blessed that my family and I were able to start over and recover from it.

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Outlive

by Erika Simeon

Violent winds, relentless rain, ceaseless thunder, and incessant lightning; ask the common people to describe a storm and these are the words they would typically associate with one. A storm is a vicious disturbance of the atmosphere with strong winds, rain, thunder or lightning. The experience I was confronted with, however, is somewhat diverge from those words above. The physical storm suspended in the sky was unparalleled to the emotional storm it caused inside of me.

Not far from 7 years ago, exactly during the 29th of September 2009, my family and I came across the brutal face of a treacherous natural disaster. When Ondoy came, the skies were constantly showering Manila, for what seemed an awfully long time. I was also convinced that it had been raining more in the area where I lived than any other place in the city. I was helpless at home; my children were unable to go to school and I was unable to attend work. Since we had been anticipating more hefty showers, I had decided to ask my husband and sons to carry our belongings from the first floor to the second floor. I was not aware that the water would rise as instantly and briskly as it did; my husband and I weren’t able to bring our vehicles to a higher ground where it wouldn’t be swimming through the flood.

I am not fond of reliving that perilous day, though I occasionally think of all the could have and should have dones to prevent certain events; I could have brought the cars to higher grounds, I could have rearranged the house in such a way that would allow us to have a kitchenette upstairs, I could have brought my kids to a safer place that would protect them from all dangers. Nevertheless, I am now optimistic as ever. I prepared a complete disaster kit for my family, prepared in a hard plastic box. It contains 3 days-worth of rice, canned goods, water, medicines, a propane burner, candles, matches, a radio, batteries, clothes, blankets, cash, and the like. I periodically check these items and replace those that need replacing. Not only do we have an emergency kit prepared, but also a generator. My husband would usually plug the lights soon after the rains become persistent and non-stop, in expectancy of power outage. In worst case scenarios, I made provision for a rubber boat, in case we would have to evacuate.

Following Ondoy, as I remember, it took me an exceedingly long time before I could bring myself to come down from the second floor to the first floor; I didn’t want to see all the damage it brought for I knew I would break down at the mere sight of it.; although when I ultimately did, I realized that I had to be strong not just for my children, but for myself as well. I was aware that we needed to start the cleaning as soon as possible; the rectifying and putting things back in order, exactly how it was before the flood. Patching things back together wasn’t entirely the most difficult part of it all, it was the acceptance and really beginning the recovery work that was. Striving to overcome emotional and psychological trauma was tough, but the feeling when it eventually happened was unbelievably the best.

Despite the many scars the flood caused, I am proud to say that the lessons it brought about outweighed all the unpleasant memories. It gave my family the wisdom to cope and be able to plan. We are now constantly keeping guard of each other; making sure that everyone is all well and kept safe. Whenever the rain becomes steady, we keep watch regardless of the time to ensure that even as we sleep, we know we will not be putting our lives at risk. I see to it that my children make sure to look after each other and take account for everyone; no man is less important than the other.

As a member of a community, I would like to make known to everyone that there is no one else to blame for these occurrences; nothing can, in actual fact, stop a natural calamity from taking place. One thing to be able to help ourselves is to be aware of the aspects that worsen a calamity and steer clear of what contributes to its gravity. Coordinating with other family members to create disaster plans on how to go about during a calamity, and how to communicate with each other, is a must. I trust that the only answer during times like those is to pray and ask for mercy; that if it happens, we will be spared. We need to thank the Man up there everyday that we are all still well and alive; that we have outlived all the hardships thrown at us.

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Catch 22

by Jaf Tumale

She takes the seat across mine and casts a warm smile my way. Her elegance and sophistication intimidate me a tad bit, as I take a quick glance at my outfit—a plain My Chemical Romance shirt topped with a denim jacket and black pants.

I don’t have much to say, so I reciprocate the smile and say, “Whenever you’re ready.”

She heaves a sigh and sets her cup of cappuccino down on the oak table in between us.

-

It was Ariesa Dizon’s first year in college at St. Louis University, when she almost lost her life, along with thousands.

“1990 had been a year of firsts.” She had said with a glint in her eyes and a beam on her face.

Hailing from Concepcion, Tarlac; Dizon’s parents made sure that she received the best education, despite the hindrances of locality. The next thing she knew, her bags were being packed and she was sent off to Baguio City. At the prime of her youth, Ariesa braved the perils of living single-handedly. As luck would have it, the council granted her a room in the dormitory and later on, was accompanied by a fellow student.

College life is not child’s play, and she learned it the hard way. Every other week, her parents would send her stipend while managing the money would be up to her. Without any veteran advice whatsoever, she was at the helm over these matters; and quite frankly, she was playing without a full deck.

July 16 had just been an ordinary day for Dizon — hustling from one classroom to another, zoning out on her professors’ lectures due to lack of sleep, and dousing copious cups of coffee to stay conscious. She was preparing to leave for her dormitory with some friends, when they felt the ground quivering up and down and sideways, as if brain freeze had struck Mother Earth. After which; a second temblor ensued, stopping them dead in their tracks as they fell to the ground for safety. It was tremendously stronger and longer, lasting for about 30 seconds. Subsequently, they heard a very loud crash. Students and teachers alike were entombed in the collapsed library nearby.

According to Dizon, outside the University the city was similarly devastated. The sound of sirens seemed to come from everywhere. Soon enough, they learned there were numerous casualties elsewhere. In another university, a whole building had collapsed. Even worse, the Hyatt Hotel had also buckled under colossal strain. Necessities such as water and electricity were cut off and they were forced to rely on rainwater for drinking. Communication was impossible due to the temblor that left the lines destroyed. A few hours after, Session Road was bestrewed with the remains of victims as funeral parlours could not accommodate them anymore.

The city was waiting for help from government but the roads - Kennon, Marcos and Naguilian were closed because of landslides. The first sign of help came from inside the city. PMA cadets, though untrained in disaster response, had to rely on their military training and sense of heroism, braved the rubbles of collapsed buildings despite the danger to themselves as aftershocks were happening almost every hour.

After 3 days, Dizon decided to leave Baguio along with a number of other people; not on a vehicle, but by trekking down the mountains. If they stayed, they supposed that they would either die of hunger, thirst or sickness as the remains of the dead who have been lying in Session Road have started to smell and the non-stop rains and the cold weather did not help.

It turned out that, “The trek was as harrowing as the earthquake itself because of the injuries we suffered.” Dizon recalls.

The 7.8 magnitude earthquake wreaked havoc on the northern part of Luzon — its epicentre being Nueva Ecija. However, Baguio City, summer capital of the country, held the most number of damages and casualties. To date, it is the seventh strongest earthquakes to devastate our nation. Recently, a 7.2-magnitude earthquake distressed Central Visayas on October 2013, leaving 28 dead and historical landmarks ruined.

These events remind us that earthquakes will not wait for another day to strike. It lives off the thrill of catching us off-guard, in our haggard state of dread and horror as we shed tears at the aftermath. One cannot foresee the coming of an earthquake, unlike storms and typhoons. Its memories will forever leave us in torment and anguish. The challenge, however, lies in our response to these tragedies coming into our lives. In a blink of an eye, we can lose the ones we love and cherish. We should decide to live life to the fullest, not wasting any chance, opportunity or minute of our precious lives.

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