choices

ten meter high waves. torrents of rain, the stampede of throngs of logs and everything else the logs pushed or carried along in their wake, coming to take you with them or instantly crush you, your house, your family... the horror of dying, of death whispering in your ears, in your soul. i have been safe, but i cannot say i feel lucky at all without rejoicing over another’s loss. it is truly hard to say thank you it wasn’t me who was in those floods. that in recent past, it was the folks in japan, then in china, and now the people of quezon, nueva ecija, pampanga, and ... just because monsieur fourches (mr. branches) did not heed the unsolicited advice on seeding with grass the upper regions that caught the ash fall from the volcano at least fourteen years ago and him and all the other presidents that followed never urged the planting of trees for every single one that was cut. what about the unaccounteds: the peoples of the tribes? they used to live near the seashores but ran upwards and upwards it is said, because men and women of civilization drove them farther and farther away from the source of water. [that it becomes ironic calling some mountain people dumagat (of the Sea) or tausug (People of the Sea), when they live high in the ridges at the ends of the world in antipolo, cainta, montalban, or hardly even own their land in Sulu, Samal, Tawi-Tawi or Basilan and Saluag.] it is certainly trying times, these. i contemplate the new responsibilities, the added load in one's work. the gruelling days and nights that could kill you. even these pale in comparison. how glad one could be that there are those like erich jantsch, who you can read about centering. i'll take on the pain and suffering of having so much work to do, anytime. it is better than having nothing at all to do. i'll swallow even the worst insults added to injury from those who do me wrong. anytime. after all, all those brothers and sisters of ours who fell victim to the wrath of nature surely had lesser, if any, choice at all.