November 7 – 0700 hrs
The warm and dry air exhaled by the sea slapped Lorenzo’s skin as he hiked along the east coast of Tacloban City. The presence of some cumulonimbus clouds seeding low early that morning convinced him that the upcoming monster storm they were broadcasting on TV was true. Nevertheless, he paused for a while and picked up a small piece of wild grass growing at a foot of a palm tree. He raised and tossed the grass up and observed the direction of the wind, hoping that it would be blown from the west and to prove that the weather bureau was wrong on their forecast. To his dismay, he watched the grass descended and blown by a gentle easterly wind.
Small beads of sweat started to trickle down on his pale brown face. His dark hair sparkled with the oil produced from his scalp. The humid was starting to crawl all over his body as he could feel the sticky sweat building up in between his groins and armpits.
A woman in her early twenties scampered toward Lorenzo like a little child. Her pink blouse radiated the oriental beauty hidden underneath her slightly tanned skin. Her long jet black hair flowing like crazy in the air as her feet landed every now and then on the gray sand. Her chinky eyes seemed to be smiling even though her face was drawn with urgency. It was Lorenzo’s girlfriend Clara, whose house was one of the numerous shacks poorly erected along the coast.
“I am afraid of the storm heading on our way. They said we should leave our houses and evacuate in the sports gym today,” Clara informed Lorenzo as she approached him.
“That’s better, Clara. It is said that the storm would be the biggest to enter our country. Did you watch the news?”
“Our neighbor told me. But I don’t want to leave our house, I’m afraid I will no longer see it after the storm.”
“It’s just a house, Clara. We could rebuild something like that after. If you don’t want to go to the sports gym, you could come into my family’s house for the meantime. I will ask my mother’s permission to let you in and your family.”
“Oh no, you won’t.”
In a country such as Philippines, one’s status in life is commonly measured by the quality and size of the house. As for Lorenzo, living in a simple two story house built with concrete walls in all four corners and freshly painted iron sheets as roof above their heads was already equivalent to belonging in the declining group of the middle class. He was living a life that his poor Clara apparently wasn't. And someday, he intended to share that house with her. Someday, for at the age of twenty-four, unemployment had paralyzed his capabilities to decide on his own. His mother was the master of the household as his father was in Dubai, working his butt off to send an amount of money he would never make in his own birth land. As for the current situation, his mother would less likely to let his beloved stay in the house. She hated Clara. She hated her for her status and he deemed it unfair.
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November 7 – 1500 hrs
Peeping through the lace curtains of her window in the second floor of her house, Rita watched the coast villagers walking in the streets toward the evacuation center. The sight of lowly people carrying large bags on their backs while pulling filthy little children disgusted her. Despite the warning of evacuation, she was among those stubborn residents who insisted on keeping guard of their houses. Feeling safe behind the concrete walls of her home, she was all too proud of not having to mingle with those unfortunate people in the crowded evacuation centers and share what the mediocre government has to give them.
Rita was about to leave when the sight of her son Lorenzo and his girlfriend Clara caught her attention below. He wrapped his arms around Clara and gave her a sad farewell kiss on her forehead. That must have been so comforting but totally undeserved, Rita thought to herself.
