Magnitude 7.8

I overheard over DZBB the news about the earthquake in GenSan. I was personal assistant to my mother, who periodically goes to Manila for medical reasons. I dismissed the news as just another earthquake. Intensity fives are common occurrences in Mindanao; they happen so frequently and quickly that people carry on with daily life indoors, the moving ground treated as a brief digression. When the ground movement stops, we’d say, “Kusog ang linog.” The comment on its strength may occasionally be replaced with a note about its duration. But this earthquake, which family and friends described as the worst in their lifetime, would be different.

When our Uber brought us back to the hotel, the family chat group was full of unread messages, mostly inquiries about everyone’s well being. Uncle Boboy’s fish were dizzy. Auntie Net’s bookshelves were toppled over. Auntie Bebet and Bicbic, who worked in Maasim, were looking for higher ground; a tsunami threat had been issued in Maasim, where they were based. Auntie Cecil called me to ask if I had news about Auntie Nene, my mother’s cousin staying in our house while we were away. She wasn’t picking her phone, Auntie Cecil said. She was worried that Auntie Nene could have tripped and fallen. I shared that minutes before, Neneng, who was also staying at home to accompany Auntie Nene at night, shared that some pots in the porch were broken, that one bookshelf fell, but that they were okay. And what about Paul? Our dog was so shaken he wouldn’t want to go for a walk. The thread of messages brought out a proverbial silver lining: at least, everyone in our immediate and extended family was safe.

One of my patients was scheduled to have her surgery that morning in GenSan. My patient was sent home, her surgery deferred. At least the earthquake happened before my patient was cut open. I learned that patients were evacuated out of the building. Tents were put up. The parking lot became temporary hospital wards. 

My Viber was awash with similar messages from hospital- and professional affiliations, asking me and my Region 12-based colleagues if we were safe and well. Pictures of damaged buildings and roads were shared. What struck me most was the actual video of Jollibee collapsing, the person taking the video  shaken as she held on to her phone, crying to God for help. The moving images gripped me: was someone inside when the building collapsed? Soon, the chat groups—our version of town hall meetings, really—would mobilize medical missions and financial aid. It amazes me, as I write this, that many quiet people's first impulse is to ask what they can do to help. Mister Rogers once said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” They were “helpers.”

News reports would later show the devastation of the magnitude 7.8 earthquake in Socsksargen Region. A number of people are missing as I write this. I read a news report about a mother waiting for the authorities to recover her son’s body at SaveMore. The MSU College of Medicine building was badly hit; it might take a while for us to be able to use it. I wonder where we will hold classes now, or if we will shift to virtual lectures, as in the COVID era. Some coastal towns, like Glan, where we often vacation, struggle with water and electricity. The roads are impassable.

I rebooked our return flights to Davao. The GenSan airport was still closed yesterday. We didn’t bother asking Uncle Glen to pick us up from the Davao airport. Nanay and I took the Yellow Bus. We slept through the entire three-hour trip. We reached Lagao at 11:30 in the morning. We got our bags. Uncle Glen had an umbrella for us; it was raining. We dropped by their house in GenSan. Uncle showed me the plates and cups that survived the earthquake. A newly built wall in the neighborhood crashed. When I drove downtown, I could see the damage to infrastructure in the city, but life is returning to normal. In the background, the song, “This Is My Father’s World,” played in the car, a sobering and comforting reminder.

 

After an hour, we reached home—Marbel—and as soon as the gate was opened, Paul ran to welcome us.