THE GREAT MARIKINA FLOOD

Coming off a grueling work week, which included back-to-back pick-up basketball games and three consecutive heavy drinking sessions, I was drained physically and mentally. I literally ached for some rest. I was excited for last Saturday (September 26) since I will finally be able to recharge and get some Me Time. All I wanted to do was to wake up at any time I want (i.e. any time later than my daily 8:00 a.m. wake-up call) and enjoy a laidback day. The first objective, I was able to do. The second objective?  That’s an entirely different story. To say that I had a busy Saturday would be a monstrous understatement. It would just be like saying Manny Pacquiao is a good boxer. Or that the analogy I just used was terrible.

I woke up at around lunchtime. I slept soundly thanks to the lulling rain and the fact that I had too much to drink. It was still raining hard when I got up. I immediately looked outside the window of my room. My prediction was confirmed: our street was already flooded. It didn’t come as a surprise to me though since this is a normal occurrence in our area whenever it rains continuously. Hence, my quick prediction. So, I carried on with my usual weekend routine. I ate lunch, read the newspaper, and browsed channels on the T.V. The flood continued to rise. But being the self-confident bastard that I am, I just easily dismissed it, thinking it would eventually subside, like it always does. Boy, was I completely wrong. I had a giant red X mark plastered on my bastardly face.

After about an hour, the water entered our kitchen. We live in an elevated house and it was the first time flood managed to storm inside. Minutes later, the uninvited guest entered our living room. At that point, I started to feel a little nervous. More ticks later, the water was already in the master’s bedroom. I could hear the Black Eyed Peas song and proverbial Facebook status message mocking me: “I’ve got a feeling, that tonight’s gonna be a long night, that tonight’s gonna be a long long night.”

In just almost two hours, our house was virtually a four-cornered archipelago. Me, my father, my brother, my brother’s friend, who was unfortunately stranded in our house, my nine-year-old cousin, and our helper scrambled to salvage all our appliances, furniture, and important belongings. We stored everything on our second floor—from the microwave to important documents to favorite underwear. We really moved things fast. We could put any American house mover out of business. You’ll be surprised at how effective adrenaline mixed with nervousness can be. We were, however, fighting a losing battle. If we were fast, the flood was faster. The water was just too powerful and unstoppable. It just kept coming and coming. It kept inviting more and more company to our already suddenly crowded house. It looked like we were in an episode of World’s Most Amazing Videos.    

As we were moving more of our appliances and furniture, the refrigerator suddenly crashed to the water. And for the first time after a very long time, I honestly felt scared. It was like “Shit, this is for real.” For the first time in my entire life, I saw my father become vulnerable. He really looked like a hapless man fighting a relentless force. Like the pavements and the plants outside, our spirits were slowly being drowned by the flood. We were being cornered and pushed to our second floor. It was us against the furious mob of flood and mud. The water on our first floor was already chest high (I’m 5’8” so you do the measuring). The water outside our house was, in local term, lampas-tao. Our house has seen thousands of typhoons and thunderstorms since it was built in 1989. We have experienced floods of all sorts, but nothing compares to this one. Nothing is even remotely close. This is the Godfather of all floods. The Floodfather. It gave us an offer we can’t refuse, or in this case, escape.

After seemingly endless hours of moving stuff and other belongings, we finally retreated and put our hands up. We did the best we could. It was just too much to bear. It was a vicious and exhausting cycle: go into the water, pick up furniture, carry it up to the second floor, go back down, and go into the water again. I couldn’t really say that we gave up, we just literally let nature takes it evil course. Although none of us did audibly, I knew every single one of us prayed that the rain would stop. It had been raining for almost 20 hours. Fear is an unfamiliar element in our house. But at that moment, fear was in every nook and cranny of our now-humbled abode. Fear was swimming, floating, and lurking in the rising water. The lack of electricity and phone signal didn’t help as well. I looked outside the window and saw our entire subdivision covered in water and conquered by darkness. It looked like a giant black blanket cloaked our area. The stillness and the silence only heightened the sense of fear.

We ate dinner in candlelight. I’m telling you, it was far from being romantic. Especially when your dinner is Cheesewhiz sandwich and tap water. We were able to save the food from the refrigerator but they were no use since we had no means of cooking. There was nothing left to do after eating except sleep everything off. But even the exhaustion did not make me sleep. I was still scared to go to bed, fearing that the water might rise anytime. I felt like a kid terrified of the monster under the bed. Only this time, I was terrified of the water under the second floor. Our first floor looked like a floating market in Bangkok. All the little things we failed to move were aimlessly floating in the muddy water. It felt like a scene in Titanic, only it was for real and not some CGI-laden film.  

I laid in my bed for over an hour and I still couldn’t sleep. The only form of entertainment I had was a deck of cards. Luckily, I had a pen and some paper inside my filthy bag, enabling me to write this sort of Great Marikina Flood memoir. Even though I was able to preoccupy myself, I struggled writing with only a candle serving as my table lamp. I was back to the old school! This is far from being a Jose Rizal masterpiece though. Good thing I also had my iPod to keep me sane and somehow alleviate the stress. After several Toe, Explosions in the Sky, and City & Colour songs, I was finally able to get some shuteye. I think that was around 11:00 p.m.

The second I opened my eyes the following morning (September 27), I immediately checked our stairs if the water was already gone. I was more than relieved it did. But another daunting task was at hand: clean-up. Although every single bone in my body—from my cranium to my fifth metatarsal—were still throbbing from the abuse they endured the day before, I had no choice but to get up and get down to cleaning business. It wasn’t exactly the weekend I pictured it to be. Our subdivision was a mess—in every sense of the word. Dirty and damaged possessions were all over. It was like Godzilla threw tantrums and threw everything on the streets. You would easily scream “putik!”—and it’s not the the toned-down/euphemistic version of “puta!” There was literally mud all over. As in mud-uming-mud-umi talaga. Mud-ugong paglilinis. Mud-uming kukuskusin. Mud-uming kalat. Ok, I should stop now. But seriously, seeing our house covered in the brown smudge, my heart and jaw dropped to the floor, which was also covered in mud by the way. I couldn’t really explain how I felt during that time. Dejected? Devastated? Disoriented? I honestly didn’t know. The only thing that would’ve made it any better were 30 hot bikini-clad women wrestling in the mud. But that didn’t happen of course.

Telling you how we cleaned the house would just bore the wits out of you (not that I haven’t bored you yet). The bottom line here is nature doesn’t nitpick. Nature can unleash its fury and hammer down its wrath in any place at any time. For years, it was the other provinces that have been drastically hit by natural calamities. It was our turn this time around. It was our turn to suffer and realize that none of us are above nature and the Powers Up There. We will always be reduced to mere spectators whenever nature decides to put up an impromptu show. And there will always be encore performances. Just over the weekend, I had a front row seat, albeit reluctantly, to nature’s most recent performance. It was astounding and unsettling at the same time. If there’s one thing I learned out of the historic disaster, it is how to really empathize with calamity victims. Before, I only felt sympathy for the affected people whenever I see them on T.V. But now, I know what it really feels like. It was a cold, harsh, mud-covered lesson for me.

I’m a pretty optimistic person. Personally, I know my family can easily move on from this. I just genuinely hope others will do too. Looking back, I’ve also realized we were still more fortunate than the other victims. All of our walls are still intact, we managed to save lots of things, we had enough food and water, and most importantly, none of us drowned. It has been said that God doesn’t give us a problem we cannot overcome. I can only agree with that. Our house will never return to its original splendor. Our house will not be cleaned up in a blink of an eye. But I know we can float on. I know we can bounce back. One tile at a time. One room at a time. One spirit at a time. All it takes is a little resolve. Although 30 hot bikini-clad women wouldn’t hurt either.