A pinch of sea salt on steamy rice and Grandma’s long prayer of gratitude for the blessings in our lives, for the food at our table and the roof over our heads, for the trials and tribulations that made us stronger and closer to God, for those who perished in this typhoon, and for those who lost everything after days of implacable winds that made our bamboo house on this lovely farm by the sea gently sway like a hammock, and unrelenting downpour that soaked the parched earth. When Grandma was done with her prayer, I was awakened by everyone’s Amen: Grandpa’s, Grandma’s and Uncle’s. It was always like that at dinnertime. Grandma’s prayer would lull me to sleep. Such memory comes again and again when times are tough and there’s not enough. Grandma’s faith, fortitude and resilience remind me of how she wants to see me from above.
Days before this super typhoon, Grandpa and Uncle were on the thatch rooftop reinforcing weak spots and finally tying the house posts to nearby trees and rocks. “Pick all the vegetables,” said Grandma, and I went around the farm filling my little wicker basket with string beans, eggplant, okra and tomatoes. That night, Grandma tucked me in the only bedroom in the house with a warm bed mattress while everybody else slept on the straw mat on the cold bamboo floor. The booming thunder and crashing lightning came, and I covered my ears with my pillow. The rain started trickling and then pounding like a monster wanting to be let in from the howling wind. The house swayed all night and I cried myself to sleep not knowing why for I knew I was safe with adults that loved me and God was watching over me.
The days that followed seemed like nights to me for they were dark and rainy still. We couldn’t get out of the house as branches were breaking, trees were falling, and house parts were flying like frisbees in the air. Grandpa couldn’t do his usual fishing, so we would have soupy dishes for dinner. Then all dried fish, fruit and vegetables were gone as well as the last egg in our only hen’s nest hanging in the crawl space under our stilt house. I felt guilty then as I would’ve wanted our hen to have more chicks that I could play with instead of stealing her eggs for my dinner. How many days we were punished by the storm, I couldn’t tell for Grandma went about with her usual Bible readings, singing, and prayers at sunrise and sunset as if they were ordinary days. Finally, when all else was gone, Grandma served me steamy rice with a pinch of salt, and said her fervent prayer. And she was right for we were alive with a house that had withstood decades of super typhoons. MLJ/13/03/2022
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