What's the News? Part 1
A supertyphoon with some of the highest recorded levels of magnitude in total wind speed and size (bigger than Hurricane Katrina and Sandy combined) blew into the Central Visayas, Philippines, making its fourth landfall on the little paradise island of Bantayan, the home of my whole family for many generations.
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| Memory postcard, 2 years ago: On the way to Santa Fe, one view of the sea from 360 degrees, a tropical Pacific island |
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| memory postcards 2 years ago: a view from my grandfather's home, built by his hardworking hands and mind of genius. RIP |
My mother, talking transmission signal between Cebu City, Bantayan, and the Americas.
My father, cook, comedian, and storyteller for two peoples.
high blood / high pressure]
A day after the storm, all relatives living in Cebu remain safe and sound.
Two days after the storm, no news from Bantayan island, as it is virtually cut-off from landlines, satellites, and still far-reaching ocean waves that did not permit passenger boats to set sail to sea.
Aerial shots show the extent of damage, from the vantage point above (Wouldn't Kanye agree?)
http://www.rappler.com/nation/43319-cebu-municipalities-isolated
[The only news comes from my parent's Facebook feed, generated by immigrant ex-pat relatives in the United States and Canada, sensationalized in between the virtual voyage from the Philippines and the (migratory dreamland of the) Americas. My mother's cell phone beeps through the night, though she does not know why; my father's Facebook feed receives updates; he doesn't know he's received anything at all.]
Three days later, we receive news from both sides of the family: All the information comes in like a 24 hour news reel through many long-winded telephone calls coming in day and night and my father's Facebook feed of continuously updated shares of images, links, and photo album tags. Welcome to disaster in 2013, among the ever connected Filipino families coming together in time if fragmented by space.
On my father's side, in the compound where my grandmother and aunt's homes still stand, parts of the roof have fallen and a neighbor's flown house sits intact on the front yard [My father, the endless joker: "Tell them they can't squat there forever!"]. All the seaside houses have collapsed. A backyard once covered in bush now gives a glimpse of the sea horizon, as the trees and houses behind the land have fallen.My grandmother's house is now an emergency shelter for the neighborhood, as the elementary school across the street is in repair.
On my mother's side, in the two-story mega house designed and built by my brilliant grandfather, where no one now lives except for the helper and her daughters, also served as a shelter for many of the neighbors who have all lost, if not their homes, their businesses and properties. Harrowing stories of neighbors crawling through the streets in 150+mph winds to reach under a roof of safety, cousin's daughters swimming in rooms submerged in water, a matriarch suffering pre-storm sickness as the wind of loss began to blow through, knocking down her walls.
[Details slip into the phone,
though my ear is not the receiver.
Instead, all I hear is
"Oo. [yes]
Ooo. [yeah]
Sus, ginoo ko. [Oh my gosh, lord]
Oo. [yes
Ooo. [yeah]
Grabe! [Heavy]
Oo. [yes]
Ooo. [yeah]
Oi, salamat sa diyos. [Oh thank the lord!]"]
My mother recounts a memory of loss and destruction, before and now: "From the rubbles, we will rise." On my parent's Facebook feed, they say #bangon Bantayan ("Bantayan will rise").
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| Pixels of a People's Memory: An affinity for a community population and its shared living of land; #digital real-mix |
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