A Dark Christmas

The bright rays of the sun disappeared as we descended through the ominous gray clouds hovering over Mayon Volcano. It took around fifteen minutes for the pilot to decide that it was safe enough to land despite the downpour and gusty winds. For some seconds, I stole a glance through the small window at the terrain below before we finally touched the ground. The scene reminded me of toothpicks planted in a chocolate roll.


At the airport, the lights were off. We also had to get our luggage on our own from the cargo truck since the conveyor belts were motionless. Electric power had not yet been restored since Typhoon Reming wrecked havoc over our poor province two weeks ago. I found my mom waiting for me outside but before we left, she pointed to me the airport façade. As if they were made of paper and cardboard, the iron roof sheets were folded and crumpled so as to expose the wooden skeleton of the building’s ceiling. And I told them, “Wow, binagyo nga kayo.” My mom promised me I’d be seeing more on our way home.

It was really hard to fathom how strong wind can blow to deracinate coconut leaves and leave the long slender trunk freestanding on its own. But seeing the hills and sides of mountains on our way, I knew Reming was indeed a super typhoon. As for the other trees, of course, they were left leafless although fresh green buds were already sprouting from the branches. It was like having spring without the merry chirping of birds and without the blooming flowers to boot.

The concrete road before us suddenly disappeared and was replaced by black sand and gravel. Boulders, as big as houses, lined the sides of the makeshift road created by bulldozers while an assortment of debris lay strewn across. We were passing by Padang, a barangay in Legazpi City, which, in minutes or so during the typhoon, became a black wasteland as rocks, mud and water galloped from the gentle slopes of Mayon to the Pacific Ocean, leaving everything on its way buried dead or alive.

Then at last, we arrived home. The back of my head was already aching from my brief tour of our ruined province. In Tiwi, power was still out, all the more depressing my spirit. With no lights, no phone, no internet, and no TV, I started regretting going home for the holidays. That was besides the fact that half of our dining hall was roofless and I had to share my room with my mom because the accumulated damages to her room by three typhoons rendered it inhabitable.

Thinking of all those Christmas lights in Manila, and perhaps anywhere else outside Bicol, I dozed off with a candle beside our bed slowly burning through the night.

***

“4000 packs!” I gaped at my mom when she told me we would be helping pack relief goods for those 4000 households which suffered total and partial damages. Until now, two weeks after the typhoon, they were still rationing rice, old clothes and other basic stuff to all the barangays of Tiwi.

So we went to the town gymnasium which was conveniently converted into a warehouse storing sacks of rice, stacks of blankets, mosquito nets and old clothes, boxes of sardines, soap, instant noodles, and other canned goods, and piles of plastic pails, cooking wares and water containers. All the goods were donated by different groups like the UNICEF, SM, Ayala and other Manila-based foundations, and some local organizations.

After listening to some instructions and planning how we were to go about the packing, my cousins and I began arranging the pails in the bleachers. Then, one by one, we dropped into every pail a bar of soap, a 2-kilogram pack of rice, a piece of blanket and 2 cans of sardines. After around two hours of hopping bleacher per bleacher distributing the set of relief goods to the laid down pails, we finished 531 relief packages. Whew.

I was sweating all over when I told my best friend (Thank God, mobile networks were not down!) that I was doing humanitarian work for Christmas. At first, I may have been bitter about it. Had I stayed in Manila, I should’ve been enjoying the comforts of the city rather than doing volunteer work while bearing all the curses of a blackout. But, I never complained while packing all those relief goods. In fact, no one did. We were actually enjoying the rush of it all, especially when it was time to count how many packages were done. And thinking that it was for the needy victims of the calamity, well, for sure, some sense of charity was responsible for the smile across my exhausted but still very handsome face.

Christmas after all is about giving and sharing, right?

***

The lights flickered back to life the day before Christmas Eve. Electrified to euphoria, I thank God for granting my supposedly “Simbang Gabi” wish had the blackout lasted until after the ninth Christmas dawn mass. We were then assured that on Christmas day, our tree would be lighted and we would have Christmas ham for breakfast. It did pay off to live in a town with its own geothermal plant; we were the only town supplied by its 60 megawatt capacity since the electric lines to other towns weren’t ready yet. My uncle who works there told me we only consumed at least 0.5% of their generation, much less than what cost them to power up the plant and their transformers. But for the sake of Christmas, they made the sacrifice, saying that, after all, it was Christmas.

As expected, the celebrations everywhere were a bit subdued. Last year, carolers would come and go ad nauseam, but this year, we never ran out of coins to hand out to those street children. Since not all houses had electric power because the lines were not yet completely fixed, only a few lanterns were hung up in the streets. And since people would just spend more in food and the basics, the night was quieter without those wasteful firecrackers.

After the midnight mass, I watched people heading off to their homes for their Noche Buenas. Some perhaps were bound to grand parties with lots of food, drinks and delights. Many, I supposed, were going home for a simple midnight snack over a candle-lit table. And with an awful pang of sadness, I suddenly thought of those who might be eating just those canned sardines from the relief packs. Then my mind was lost in torrents of thoughts while I walked back home. As I continued on, beneath the stars of the clear midnight sky, I had a silent prayer in my head, a silent prayer of thanks.

Who really does care if you’ll have sardines for Noche Buena? There may be a lot of things that make Christmas happy: the lights, the presents, the carols, and the list might never end, but for sure, as we all know, it’s being with our families that matters most. And I thanked the Divine on that special night that our Christmas was happy as ever, as happy as it can ever be.

The storm and all the devastation it left will be part of every Bicolano experience and will be retold in tales that would last for generations. True, tragedies leave a staggering number of possibilities. Some would wallow in despair and anguish for all the losses while others would muster enough courage to pull oneself back together and rebuild what has been lost. And I’m always thankful that Filipino solidarity never failed Bicol and continuously never fails; that people of all sorts are always ready to help out fellow Filipinos in dire need of help. And this Christmas season, they gave light, home, and life to those who were supposed to be depressed and hopeless without them. I’m also thankful that the unique Filipino resiliency lives on in every Bicolano spirit. When all’s back to normal, for sure, the Bicolanos will rise as “oragons” once again. And lastly, I’m thankful that nobody loses faith in Christmas. It is this faith that makes Christmas here one of the happiest in the world.

Now, how could I ever think that a Christmas would be dark? All Christmases are bright.