But who could forget? I still get chills when I think about November 8, 2013.

Four years after Yolanda and here I am, hundreds of miles away from where it happened. But somehow, memories of her still have a way of unnerving me.

If I were in Burauen right now, no doubt, my family and I would be reminiscing about so many memories, good and bad, from November 8, 2013.

We'll be talking about wondering why November 7, 2013 was declared as a non-working day, in preparation of Yolanda's arrival. Who prepares for a typhoon? Aren't we Warays kind of used to that stuff already? 

We'll talk about the fried chicken that we cooked on night of the 7th, in preparation for our breakfast the following day. We also had a loaf of bread ready. Surely those would be enough to get us through  the 8th. Surely we can easily buy food afterwards. We know the drill; we've encountered enough typhoons in the past. 

We'll talk about huddling in our parent's bedroom at 5 am of the 8th, knowing that Yolanda has arrived,  winds not too strong yet. To quote my youngest brother "Asya ini it super typhoon?", seemingly unimpressed that it's not as strong as he expected. My sister decided that she will sleep through it.

We'll talk about standing by the gate at 6 am, still enjoying the view of the dancing trees and the "freshness" of the wind. 

Until it stopped being enjoyable.

The huge branches of the two mango trees in  front of our house started to give way. Our roof took a hit. Something broke. Rain water was everywhere.

We all moved to the safest part of the house: the kitchen. My sister decided she that she won't sleep through Yolanda. My brothers held on to the kitchen door, it seemed that Yolanda wanted to open it too. In the intervals that our door cracked open, we got a glimpse of our main house getting brighter: we've lost half of our roofing.

Random things seemed to fly out of nowhere. Getting hit by a stone flying at 200 kms, no matter how small would have been fatal. Celestine might have been feeling the tension too. She just clung tightly too me, underneath those blankets.

We didn't count the hours. It seemed like it would never it. The walls and the ground trembled.

And then everything went still. No winds. No rain. The eye of the storm. I've always known from lessons in school that the eye of the storm is mighty calm. It is.

It gives you the chance to see the wreckage. It gives you the chance to hear your neighbor's screams and cries. It gives you the chance to see how the street and neighborhood that you've known all your life is unrecognizable at first glance.

For how long? Just a few minutes.

The booming wind could be heard coming back from the opposite direction. We didn't go back to the kitchen; we knew that this time it would be the least safe place in the house. We stayed at the front porch; we opened our gate to 30 or more people who couldn't move forward when the winds came back. Suddenly we didn't feel so alone. We waited for the storm to die down.

It was past noon when the skies cleared up. We forgot about the fried chicken that we cooked. We all had a distracted look on our face. Our adrenaline was still quiet high though. I have a good memory of seeing my sister lift a huge galvanized iron sheet that fell into our room. You wanted to do so many things and yet you didn't know where to begin.

And then you had to think about tonight and tomorrow. Because things didn't end when the storm died. There was a different situation at hand.

Oh, but here we are. Four years after we can look back on the lessons we learned.

By God's grace, we're still here.

We're in the year 2016 - that's three years after Yolanda ravaged the Philippines. We all know about how much of a deluge it was. So many lives lost. Too much destruction. I remember when the storm died down and I and my family went out of our home (what's left of it) and saw for the first time the unspeakable damage that Yolanda brought. "How do we rise up from something like this?", I thought. And we didn't even have the worst brunt. The Taclobanons and the residents other coastal towns in Leyte and Samar had it worse.

My home at San Diego, Burauen, Leyte a few hours after Yolanda left.

Lamp and electrical posts were down. A few weeks later, my sister and I took the time to touch the tops of the posts. Hey, it's a bragging right, being able to touch the top of the post, albeit a fallen one. ;)

Spot the big white clouds at the end of the road. There's going to be a great weather tomorrow. But how do we get to tomorrow with all of these? And how we dreaded the coming of the night. Photo taken on the afternoon of November 8, 2013.

My energetic grandma surveys the destruction. My brother may just be thinking about what we will be having for dinner. Wait, what?! We actually forgot about breakfast and lunch.

My high school, the Burauen Comprehensive National High School.

The Burauen Comprehensive National High School, days after Yolanda.

The Burauen North Central School, days after Yolanda.

Must have been taken by my father, somewhere in the Palo area.

My momma's school, the Burauen National High School.

The Burauen National High School,  days after Yolanda.

"We's havin'  a great weather", that's why my kid and my younger brother were relaxing on the floor. But remember....

...we still had no roofing.

We've come a long way from November 2013. We've risen up from the ashes. But I think we still have a long way to go. There is the issue of Climate Change and how it mainly affects us. 

This is in remembrance to all of those whose lives were lost. This is also in gratitude to those  who made great sacrifices to help their fellowmen.

Tin adds the finishing touch to our tree. December 2013

First of all, I am not from Tacloban City.

I'm from Burauen, Leyte. That puts me and my family at about 45 km from the center of this catastrope. The nearest beach from my town is about 30 km away. So when Yolanda ravaged Eastern Visayas on November 8, 2013, we were fairly safe from the storm surge. A blessing, yes. Nonetheless, the rain and wind were still capable of so much destruction.

Owing to our location, we were spared from the sight of death (bless their souls). Life after Yolie was hard. But when I learned about how harderrrrrr it was for people  in places such as Tanauan, Palo and Tacloban, I couldn't, wouldn't complain.

My mother is a born-and-bred Taclobanon and my 79-year old grandma still resides in the Diit area. We spent summers at a beach that has a view of the San Juanico Bridge when I was young so you probably get the idea. My uncles, aunts and about a dozen cousins live there too. We were worried sick about their safety but thankfully they were all alive and safe. Their stories of survival turn my heart into marshmallow and my knees in to Jell-O. Thank God forfor  that three-story unfinished building that they were able to climb to.

2. Stop, Look, Listen. Sunday after 'Y' was the first time that the sky cleared up. It was a beautiful night, perfect for sleeping. But NO! At about 11 pm I was roused from my sleep because there was too much noise coming from the street. Blaring headlights and blowing horns made me ask my brother to get up and check out what's happening. He learned that people were moving to higher ground because a tsunami was coming. I scooped up my baby and me and my siblings together with my grandparents decided to go home and join my parents.* In case there really was a tsunami at least we would all be together. But where was the water? And isn't an earthquake like a prerequisite to having a tsunami?? Apparently no one was thinking about that, including me. There was just pure panic. I don't know how many thousands of people were marching, driving motorcycles, cars and trucks. Wheel chairs, tricycles, name it! It was like the Exodus was coming to life. But where was the water? None. Nada. Waley. Whoever spread that lie must have had a hidden agenda. Or maybe there was a mother who was calling her daughters "Chona"and "Mae". Chona Mae. Tsunami. Someone must have heard it and sounded the alarm. But we learned to 'Stop, Look and Listen' first in Girl Scout. The rules have not changed.

3. Let it go. We love keeping knickknacks. High school notes, grade school grad programs, dried flowers, broken rubber duckies. Anything that reminds us of something. But when those anythings get drenched in wet and you try to sort things out, you would end up asking yourself "Why on earth have I been keeping this?" You would end up keeping just the most important things. What a wonderful way to clean up. Let it go, let it go. We did have a ticket to watch a Sarah Geronimo concert on 15 November, a week after 'Y'. Plane tickets and hotel reservations were set. But we decided to let it go because of other pressing and more important things at hand. :( Plus with our damaged house, we were just not in partey mood.





Where I spent high school: The Burauen Comprehensive National High School

Me and my baby. She's a joy in the midst of difficulties. I, on the other hand, am too dark and too haggard for obvious reasons :)

I've been picking my brain this whole November for a Yolanda anniversary post and these are some of the reflections I realized. The whole story has been recounted so many times, in the news, in papers. But in my heart I will always hold the personal lessons I learned in life because of this experience. You will never know what you are capable of until something as massive as this happens. You will never know how much charity a human heart is capable of until you are the one who is at the receiving end of it. I cry out of sadness when I hear sad stories in the news. But I smile too whenever there are stories of hope, love and charity. This whole thing is bittersweet.

What are your thoughts twelve months after super-typhoon Yolanda? Share your thoughts.


Thank you for visiting my blog today. XO

Carissa

*since our house was damaged, we moved every night to my grandparents' house to sleep
**you know how it clears up when the 'eye of the storm' passes by? There was a brief period of about 10 mins that the winds and the rains stopped so that's our reference for the two halves. Before the 'eye of the storm' passed by and after.